


The Truth Is Now

by TeaPet



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Anxious Waverly, Athletic Nicole, Because I have an obsessive need for backstory, Cheerleader Waverly, Coming Out, Except Nicole is there too, Exploring Waverly's high school experience, F/F, High School, Introspective Waverly, Lesbian Nicole Haught, Loner Nicole, Nicole/Jeremy bromance, Perfectionist Waverly, Slow Burn, Waverly/Chrissy friendship, sexual awakening
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2019-11-05 00:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 76,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17908679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaPet/pseuds/TeaPet
Summary: Waverly Earp maintains a certain image in high school: popular, a cheerleader, a good student. She also harbors deep family secrets, a heart heavy with anxiety, and a desperate need to learn more about her past.And then there’s Nicole Haught: a bit of a loner, obsessed with queer comics, and half-heartedly posted up in the closet until further notice—because there couldn’t possibly be a girl for her in Purgatory. Right?This is how Waverly Earp’s junior year of high school might have gone if she’d had Nicole by her side.





	1. In which Waverly's family is significantly more dramatic than Nicole's

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, Earpers. 
> 
> In this fic I try to stay plot-compliant regarding the Earp sisters' pasts, the Curse, Waverly's burgeoning interest in Earp history, and her high school accomplishments while simply inserting our dear Nicole into Waverly's life a few years earlier than the show does. I do move Wynonna's timeline around a bit (i.e. she goes to Europe sooner than she does in the show).
> 
> This is rated M for later chapters.
> 
> Thank you in advance for reading!
> 
> Love, TeaPet

Nicole Haught loves everything about early Sunday mornings on the trails outside of Purgatory: the sharp smell of the soil, the crisp autumn air, the way the tops of the lodgepole pines shiver with the movement of birds as she runs past. She never brings earbuds along on her runs, preferring instead the steady, meditative sound of her breath and the crunch of her footfalls on the forest floor.

She follows the trail as it curves to the left. Checking her GPS watch, she tries to kick her pace up just a notch; she's lagging. Her legs and lungs--although strong from her training--resist, her quads burning with each step. Lack of sleep must be catching up to her.

The edge of the wood comes into view. She is six miles into her run and heading into the last quarter. If her calculations are correct, her route should take her back into town and past the public library near the end of her cool-down period.

She has a new comic, _Heavy Vinyl,_  waiting to be picked up at the library.Jeremy recommended it. He's usually pretty reliable when it comes to comic recs, and Nicole is willing to take a break in her _Buffy_ comics re-read. (She’d finished season nine around two o’clock that morning, her scratchy eyes skimming over dialogue she knew by heart.)

At the edge of town Nicole steels herself and pushes hard for the last stretch, focusing on maintaining her form and her breath, thinking of nothing but putting one foot in front of the other.

Purgatory is awake, but quiet. A few cars tool along the sleepy Main Street, probably headed to church. An elderly man exits the coffee shop, brown paper bag and coffee cup in hand, and turns to look as Nicole sprints past.

When her watch beeps at eight miles, she drops into an easy jog for about the length of a block, breathing hard and glancing at her numbers. Not her best, which is frustrating; she should be seeing more improvement by this point in her training.

She slows to a brisk walk, enjoying the feeling of her heart still galloping in her chest, and pulls at her hair tie. Her swollen fingers catch in her sweaty hair as she rakes it back into a new ponytail. She turns off Main onto Victoria. The library is half a block down.

 

* * *

 

“Waverly! Chrissy! Get your butts out of bed and come eat some breakfast!”

 _Groan_.

Warm beneath a flannel blanket and a thick, hand-stitched quilt, Waverly Earp stretches her legs and rubs her eyes. Her eyelids are heavy, her cheeks stiff. A splash of cool water against her face would feel nice after a night of crying.

The morning sun glows through the gauzy white curtains, brightening the bedroom. Chrissy Nedley is curled up next to Waverly, facing the wall, her breath slow and heavy. She doesn't budge at the sound of Gus’s call.

Groping blindly across her nightstand, Waverly finds her phone and yanks it free of the cord, unlocking it to find a small barrage of texts from her boyfriend, Champ.

Champ: Sup hottie. How’s the party?  
Champ: I’m bored. Work sucks  
Champ: You w chrissy?  
Champ: Should be me in your bed  
Champ: 🍆

Waverly crinkles up her nose and chooses not to respond for the time being. He's probably asleep anyway. She opens the cheerleading squad’s group text to double check the day’s practice time, although she could recite the entire week’s schedule at a moment’s notice.

Steph: Practice 11 am sharp. Don’t be late. And don’t forget your uniforms  
Sonja: Wearing them to practice?  
Steph: Yes Sonja, why else would I make you bring them. Helloooo

Without bothering to look, Waverly reaches around her back and bats at the lump that is Chrissy. It groans.

“Rise and shine,” Waverly says. She grabs Chrissy’s hip over the comforter and rocks her a little bit.

“Nnnghh,” Chrissy moans, her voice muffled against the pillow.

“It’s 10:33." Waverly yawns and slides out of bed. She shivers when her bare feet touch the wood floor, a wave of goosebumps rising on her forearms. “Gus made breakfast.”

“There better be bacon,” Chrissy croaks, squinting at her phone. She yawns loudly. “And coffee."

“Only you can eat bacon before working out and not hurl,” Waverly says from across the room, where she is piling her long brown hair on top of her head in a messy bun, already feeling wide awake. “Hurry up. It’s a uniform day. Here.” She pauses in getting dressed to fish around in Chrissy’s duffel, where she finds a neatly folded cheerleading uniform still in its plastic bag. “Chrissy. You haven’t tried it on yet?”

Chrissy shrugs. She's still in bed, but at least she's sitting up now. “Why would I?”

“You better hope it fits, or Steph’ll have a cow.” Waverly tears open the plastic and tosses the stiff top at her friend, followed closely by the skirt.

Chrissy climbs out of bed, shaking out the navy-and-white top and holding it up to herself. She sighs and pulls her t-shirt off. Once dressed, she looks at Waverly. “Hey,” she says quietly, taking a step forward.

Waverly pulls up her skirt, ignoring her.

Chrissy tries again. “Waves.”

“Hmm?”

Chrissy tilts her head. “You okay?”

Waverly pulls her top over her head and tugs it down. She stands in front of the mirror, smoothing her hands down her sides to rest at her hips. Finally she turns, rubbing one hand against her forehead, and just looks at Chrissy.

“I’m sorry, Waves,” Chrissy says softly.

Waverly takes a deep breath. “It’s fine.” She smiles tightly. “I’m fine. You know me.”

Chrissy looks uncertain. “Okay.”

“Come on.” Waverly pulls open her bedroom door. “Let’s go eat.”

Five minutes later, the girls are hovering over the kitchen counter, Waverly taking a bite out of a piece of peanut butter-slathered toast while Chrissy piles eggs and bacon on a plate. Waverly’s aunt Gus sits behind them at the kitchen table with a big mug of coffee and the Sunday paper. Uncle Curtis is nowhere to be found. Neither is Waverly’s older sister, Wynonna--although Waverly didn't expect to see her.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Waverly exclaims, grabbing a napkin as Chrissy begins shaking a bottle of hot sauce over her eggs. “At least tuck a napkin into your top. I don’t think Steph will be too happy if you show up with a spicy boob. That’s not regulation.”

Chrissy snorts and grabs the napkin. “You love my spicy boobs.”

Waverly rolls her eyes but grins.

“How come you don’t have to wear a napkin, then?” Chrissy asks, tucking the edge carefully under the neck of her top.

“Because I have manners,” Waverly says, and Chrissy shoves her.

“Hey!” Waverly holds the toast away from her body as she stumbles back.

“Careful, you’ll get peanut butter on your uniform.” Chrissy says, biting a piece of bacon in half as Waverly swats at her.

“Aunt Gus, time check?” Waverly rummages around in a cupboard in search of a travel mug.

Gus sets down her coffee. She's wearing a buttoned up flannel shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots at the table. She looks like she’s already put in a full day’s work. But she protests, “I still think Sunday practices should be outlawed. You girls need a day--”

“Gus! Sorry,” Waverly squeaks. “But, time?” She carefully taps the kettle on the stove, checking its temperature before filling her mug with water.

Gus sighs and glances at her watch. “10:47.”

“Shit.” Chrissy shovels eggs into her mouth, grabs all of the bacon off her plate, and drops the plate in the sink before jogging to the front hall. “Waves, come on. We’re gonna be late.”

“Right behind you.” Waverly plucks a bag of peppermint tea from a box on the counter and scoots through the kitchen, pausing on her way past to peck Gus on the cheek. “Thanks for breakfast.”

Gus snags Waverly with an arm around her middle. “Waverly--”

“I gotta go, Gus. Sorry,” Waverly says, hurrying past but squeezing her aunt’s hand on the way.

“Thanks, Mrs. McCready!” Chrissy shouts as she opens the front door.

 

* * *

 

Purgatory Public Library is an old, yellow-painted two-story house that was gutted and converted a couple of decades ago, with the main and second floors devoted to materials and computers, and the drafty basement level split into two sections: the local archives, and the children’s room. Popular among the older and toddler crowds, the library doesn't have much to offer Purgatory High students as far as programs go, but Nicole savors it for its quiet and its general lack of fellow teens.

On this particular Sunday, Nicole waves at Bridget at the circulation desk and walks past a couple of armchairs occupied by older gentlemen reading newspapers on her way to the “H” section of the holds shelf.

“Can’t stay away?”

Nicole stars as Jeremy Chetri’s face appears suddenly in front of her. He's standing on the other side of the shelf, a half-full book truck at his side, wearing his bright yellow Purgatory Public Library polo. (Okay, so _one_ other teen can often be found at the library.)

“Jesus, Jeremy.” Nicole puts a hand to her chest. “Warn a girl.”

“Sorry. Just filling holds. Bottom shelf,” Jeremy clarifies. “I was kneeling and I noticed your shoes. Why do you have your name on your shoe?”

Nicole glances down. She has a small metal pendant velcroed to the laces of her purple Asics.

“In case I get murdered on the trail,” she deadpans.

“ _Oh._ Right.” Jeremy looks momentarily surprised into silence, but he quickly recovers. “You know, statistically speaking, it’s more likely you’ll overheat and pass out or sprain an ankle while running.” He squeezes a book onto the shelf.

Nicole joins Jeremy in his aisle, comic in hand. “If I sprained an ankle, I would still be able to identify myself to emergency responders,” she says. “No ID tag needed.”

“Maybe you hit your head on the way down,” Jeremy points out. “Lost consciousness.”

“So many things to worry about,” Nicole says.

“So what are you doing here on your day off?” Jeremy asks, pulling a couple of books off the cart.

Nicole holds _Heavy Vinyl_ in front of his face.

“Heyy! You got it!”

“You told me to.”

“You’re gonna love it." Jeremy grins.

“Yeah?” Nicole flips through it. “Why’s that?”

“Oh, just--well, I can’t say, because spoilers,” Jeremy says. “But trust me.”

Nicole narrows her eyes at him. “Hmm.”

“Hey, so, I was going to ask--are you going to the game this Friday?” Jeremy picks a book off the cart, casually eyeing the slip of paper between its pages as he speaks.

“The football game?”

“Um… yes?”

“ _You_ want to go to the football game?” Nicole asks.

“Interesting that you jumped to that conclusion."

“Sorry,” Nicole says. “Why do you ask?”

“Um, because… okay, yeah, I was kind of planning on going,” Jeremy says, rapidly opening and closing the book cover.

Nicole rolls her eyes. “Well, unfortunately, yes. I’ll be there. I have to take photos for _The Daily Devil._ I’m on the sports beat this semester, of all things. _”_

“Ew.”

“Yeah. Mx. Kolisnyk said something about ‘going outside my comfort zone.’”

“Okay, but you’re, like, super fit,” Jeremy points out. “How is it outside your comfort zone?”

“Dude, you know I don’t do team sports,” Nicole says. “But it’s fine. I’ll make the most of it.” She waves her hand dismissively.

“So can I go with you then?” Jeremy asks.

“Why are you so keen on going? I didn’t think you were into football players,” Nicole says, her voice dropping to a whisper as she steps a little closer to Jeremy.

Jeremy gives her a look. “First of all, you are so sweaty it’s affecting the humidity levels in the library. Second, God help me if I ever develop a football fetish.”

Nicole makes a face and hugs _Heavy Vinyl_ against her chest.

“No, uh… Robin’s going to be there,” Jeremy whispers, carefully sliding the book he's holding onto the shelf. “Working the concession stand.”

“Robin Jett?” Nicole whispers.

Jeremy nods.

Nicole considers, nodding her head slowly. “Nice."

Jeremy brightens. “He’s cute, right? I figure the worst that can happen is I charm a free candy bar out of him.”

“Is that the worst that could happen?” Nicole asks.

“You’re right. The worst would be having to _pay_ for the candy bar. Can I ride with you, then?”

Nicole smiles. “Sure. I’ll pick you up at six.”

“I’ll bring the tequila,” Jeremy whispers.

Nicole smirks. “No, you won’t.”

“No, I won’t,” Jeremy agrees.

 

* * *

 

“Where were you two last night?” Rachel hisses at Chrissy and Waverly as the entire squad sprints to the sideline to strip their sweats from beneath their skirts.

They're practicing on the PHS football field. Normally they practice in the gym; Sunday mornings are one of the only times the field is free. It's located a couple of blocks away from the school and is ringed by a dusty, unpaved track, which runs behind the modest bleacher sets. Chrissy and Waverly pulled up in Chrissy’s car just as the team was taking the field. Too close a call for Waverly’s liking.

“What do you mean?” Chrissy asks, glancing at Rachel.

Waverly hops on one foot, yanking her pants over her sneaker, saying nothing.

“Hustle, hustle, hustle!” Steph screams from the field.

“Don’t play dumb.” Rachel balls her pants up and tosses them onto the metal bench. “Jamal’s party? Where were you?” She looks between Chrissy and Waverly.

“Is there some law that says we have to be at every party?” Chrissy asks, draping her pants over the bench. “We just didn’t feel like it.”

Rachel rolls her eyes and turns to Waverly, her arms crossed. “Champ was looking for you,” she says, sounding almost accusatory.

“Big whoop,” Waverly mumbles.

“Wow, nice, Waverly. Why the hell are you even with him? And it wouldn’t kill you two to hang out with the squad, you know.” Rachel turns and runs back onto the field.

“We hang out with you all the time!” Waverly shouts, jogging after her.

“Don’t worry about her,” Chrissy says, catching up to Waverly. “She’s just jealous.”

“Of what?”

“You,” Chrissy says, shrugging, and then mouths, _Champ._

“Oh, please,” Waverly whispers. “She’s not into _Champ_.”

Chrissy cocks an eyebrow in response.

“I don’t see what the big deal is, anyway,” Waverly huffs. “I mean, team bonding is meaningless if we all get caught drinking at some party and kicked off the squad, right?”

Chrissy shrugs as if to say, _Yeah, but what can you do?_

“From the top!” Steph claps her hands sharply.

The girls get into their starting formation, arranged precisely in a diamond shape among the painted lines on the turf. Waverly, the smallest on the squad, is the point in front.

“I’m just saying, Steph’s pissed at you,” Rachel hisses from somewhere behind Waverly, and Waverly feels a bit sick to her stomach. “I’m only looking out for you.”

Maybe they should’ve just gone to the party. The thought that she’d angered the captain of the squad doesn’t bode well. Waverly has one final year--a few months, technically--to prove that she deserves the thing she’s been dreaming about and working toward for years: the role of head cheerleader.

The music starts.

*****

As Waverly makes her way off the football field with the rest of the squad after practice, her face flushed and muscles loose, she feels considerably more cheerful than she had at the start. The exercise, the music, the dancing--it was just the mood boost she needed. The weather is beautiful; she hasn’t even bothered to put her warm-up pants back on after practice.

“What’s up for the rest of today?” Chrissy asks, taking a swig from her water bottle.

Waverly's just opened her mouth to reply when they round the bleachers and spot Champ Hardy’s car in the parking lot.

“Never mind,” Chrissy says. “Guess I know.”

“Baby!” Champ calls, waving hugely as he gets out of the car. He saunters over, slips his thick arms around Waverly’s waist, and lifts her off her feet as he kisses her lips. When he sets her down, his hands slide down the back of her skirt and squeeze. He pulls her tight against his hips and growls, “Damn, you look good in that uniform.”

“Champ,” Waverly mutters, pushing gently against his chest. She's very aware of the other girls walking past, eyeing them. “Not here.”

“Hi, Champ,” Chrissy says loudly beside them.

“’S’up, Chrissy?” Champ says, slinging an arm over Waverly’s shoulders and flashing Chrissy a toothy grin. “You guys missed the party. What were you even doing last night? ”

“Nothing,” Waverly says, answering for Chrissy. “What are you doing here?”

“Just came to intercept you. You’ve been so MIA lately, baby. You owe me some alone time.” He waggles his eyebrows and grins.

“I promised Gus I’d be home after practice,” Waverly says. It's a lie, but she's anxious to get home.

“For real? Don’t tell me you have homework,” Champ groans. “Let me drive you home at least. Come on, we’ll take the long way.”

Waverly glances between Chrissy and Champ.

Champ squeezes her shoulder a few times, jostling her, and says, “Come on, baby, I’ve missed you.”

Leaning her head against his shoulder, Waverly concedes. “Okay.” She looks at Chrissy. “I’ll text you later?”

“Sounds good, Waves.” Chrissy gives her a small smile and heads to her own car.

*****

“So? Where were you last night, babe?”

Champ drives slowly, tooling up and down the quiet streets of Purgatory. He’s rolled down his window and propped his elbow on the car door, left hand resting loosely on the wheel as he drives. His right hand massages Waverly’s thigh.

Waverly shrugs. "We just decided to stay home, is all.”

“But why?”

She sighs. “Family drama.”

“What is it this time?” Champ asks.

“Nothing.” Waverly drops her head back against the headrest and closes her eyes.

Champ glances over at her. “Don’t look like nothing.”

Waverly turns her head toward the window.

“Babe. Come on, what happened?” Champ pulls onto the side of the street, next to a small playground, and puts the car in park. He turns his body toward hers and tweaks her ear. “Waves, come on. I’m all ears.”

Waverly looks at him, hesitating. “It’s Wynonna.”

Champ raises his eyebrows and gestures as if to say, _Go on._

Waverly’s eyes fill suddenly with tears. “She’s leaving, Champ.”

“Leaving? What do you mean? She’s, like, never around anyway.”

Waverly looks hurt. She carefully runs a fingertip under her eyes, determined not to let any tears fall, and takes a breath. “I mean she’s _leaving_ leaving. Like, leaving the country.”

“Damn,” Champ says softly. “Where’s she goin’?”

“Europe,” Waverly says bitterly.

“Why the fuck’s she going to Europe?”

Waverly throws her hands up and lets them fall against her thighs. “How should I know? She never tells me anything.”

“Hey, hey,” Champ says softly, massaging the back of Waverly’s neck. He leans over and kisses the side of her face before moving on to her earlobe, and then her neck. “It’s okay.”

Waverly’s eyes fill again. “It doesn’t feel okay,” she whispers.

Champ continues to kiss his way down her neck. His left hand creeps up her leg, fingertips slipping beneath her skirt, his thumb rubbing over the skin of her upper thigh.

“Champ.” Waverly fidgets beneath his touch. “Not now.”

“Come on, baby, let me make you feel better,” he says against her neck before biting gently at her earlobe.

For a moment, she lets him. She takes a breath and tries to relax into the feeling of his lips and his tongue beneath her ear, against her throat. When he tries to slide his hand beneath her navy bloomers, though, she puts her hand on top of his.

“Champ,” she says quietly. She pushes gently against his hand until he removes it from under her skirt. “We’re in broad daylight. Could you just take me home, please?”

Champ lets out a frustrated growl and dramatically shifts the car into gear.

“Sorry,” Waverly says quietly. “I’m just… not in the mood.”

“Yeah,” Champ says shortly, pulling onto the street.

Waverly is silent the rest of the way home.

*****

Later, alone in her bedroom, Waverly stands in front of her dresser mirror, rubbing her thumbs absently against the cover of the diary in her hands. It's brimming with loose scraps placed carefully between the pages--cards and letters, photos, a pretty leaf or two--and kept closed with a thick rubber band around its middle.

She showered and changed into a thick, oversized sweater, leggings, and wool socks. Her brown hair hangs loose and damp around her face. Taking a slow, deep breath, she looks into the eyes of her reflection.

Wynonna is leaving Purgatory. She is going halfway around the world.

To be fair, it's been years since Wynonna has really been present in Waverly’s life. But that doesn't make it any easier.

Waverly’s heart and brain and body feel so _full_. Full of anger. Full of deep sadness and confusion and guilt. She's a shit sister who didn't try hard enough to help Wynonna. But how could she, when Wynonna refused to let her in? When Wynonna refused to talk about… their past?

Then she feels guilty for feeling bad when her life is so good compared to Wynonna’s.

Wynonna is leaving her. Again. But why should she stay? For her stupid little sister?

There's a knock on her bedroom door, and Gus sticks her head in.

“Waverly, hon? How’s an early dinner sound?”

Waverly runs a hand through her hair. “I’m not very hungry, Aunt Gus."

“You’re not hungry after all that kickin’ and dancin’?”

Waverly shrugs. “I don’t feel very good.”

Gus enters the room, closing the door quietly. She pauses for a minute before saying gently, “I know you’re upset about last night.” Then, bitterly, “It’s a stupid move, her leavin’.”

“It’s not her fault,” Waverly says automatically. “She’s just doing what she--what she thinks she has to do.”

“She _has_ to go abroad?” Gus asks angrily. She rubs a hand over her face and takes a breath. “She’s running from her problems. Again.

“I guess that’s Wynonna’s MO, though.”

“Aunt Gus,” Waverly says, sinking onto her bed and dropping her face into her hands. She feels anxiety creep its way into her body, an uncomfortable squirm in her gut. “Please.”

Gus sighs. She walks over to perch on the edge of the bed beside Waverly. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m just--I’m tired of watching her throw her life away. I hate what it does to you, Waverly.”

Waverly rubs her nose, lets out a slow breath and stares down at her feet, determined not to cry in front of Gus.

Gus places a hand on Waverly’s knee. “You should talk to her before she leaves,” she says.

Waverly nods and then says, “I’m going to lie down for a while before dinner. If that’s okay.”

“Of course, honey.” Gus stands up to leave. “I’ll come get you when it’s ready.”

Alone at last, Waverly curls up on her unmade bed, not bothering to get under the covers, and allows herself to cry.

 

* * *

 

While her parents are out of the house that afternoon (her mom drove to the Big City to put in a few hours at the university; her dad was working a shift at the local consignment shop, The Devil’s Closet), Nicole pulls on a pair of sweats, sticks her earbuds in, and takes advantage of her productive mood.

The house where she lives with her parents and her cat, Calamity Jane, is small. Although not exactly dirty, it often feels cluttered, which makes Nicole itch. Three loads of laundry, four podcast episodes, and one tidied kitchen later, she stretches out on the sofa in the den, pulls an ugly old crocheted blanket over her legs, and finally cracks open _Heavy Vinyl._

The comic is about a group of girls working at a record store. It's peak ’90s, and Nicole loves the protagonist, Chris, right away: her backwards snapback, her baggy, block-striped polo shirts. And she likes that Chris has a crush on her coworker, Maggie.

So it's about a gay girl. Nicole knows that that's why Jeremy recommended it, and she's a little bit embarrassed, despite herself.

Jeremy's tried a couple of times over the past year to get Nicole to open up. He never asks her directly if she's gay; he just provides opportunities for her to come out in conversations. So far, she hasn’t taken him up on it.

Nicole lets her thoughts drift back to those moments as she lays there, scratching gently behind Jane’s fluffy ears. She appreciates Jeremy’s efforts--really, she does--but the thought of actually admitting to him, out loud, that she liked girls is just… a lot.

Besides, there isn’t anything to talk about. There is no girl. There isn’t going to be a girl. Not in Purgatory, anyway.

Nicole's resigned herself to that fact.

She groans as she kicks off the blanket (and then refolds it neatly) before heading to her bedroom.

She slips the comic into her backpack and pulls her camera out of its case. Technically it's the school’s, but Nicole feels rather attached to it. She turns it on and looks closely at the screen on the back, a small smile on her face as she clicks through and then deletes the handful of photos she took of Calamity Jane that week.

This is her second year taking Journalism. She enrolled last year because the geology elective she’d wanted to take had filled up, and to her surprise, she enjoyed it. She has a good eye for photos, and she likes the work of reporting: finding stories, writing down the facts. She feels, for the first time, as though she's _involved_ in the life of Purgatory High--even if she's only relaying what happens. It's a comfortable sort of involvement. It feels good to her.

She pulls out her planner and flips to the coming week. A short essay due already. Wednesday evening work shift at the library. And the Blue Devils’ first football game on Friday, of course.

 _Pick up Jeremy 6pm_ , she writes in the Friday square.

Senior year is about to begin in full force.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comics Referenced
> 
> Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Season Nine. Written by Joss Whedon, Andrew Chambliss, et al. Dark Horse Comics
> 
> Heavy Vinyl: Vol. 1. Written by Carly Usdin. Illustrated by Nina Vakueva. BOOM! Studios


	2. In which Waverly makes her initial trip to the archives and Nicole accidentally looks at salacious comics at work

Tuesday evening finds Waverly sitting cross-legged on a chair at the kitchen table, a throw blanket draped over her shoulders and one hand cupped around a mug of tea as she works her way through a set of pre-calc problems. Math is one thing that just won't click for her. It suffers, in her opinion, from a lack of heart (unlike history and literature).

She's erasing some of her work for the second time when her phone vibrates against the table. Two days of voicemails begging Wynonna to stop by the house so that they can talk properly, and her sister is finally returning her call.

After Wynonna broke the news of her leaving on Saturday, Waverly was too distraught, and Gus too angry, for any real conversation to take place. Wynonna had stormed out of the house with Gus’s shouts at her heels, barely acknowledging her sister crying under Curtis’s protective arm.

Waverly snatches up her phone, hand shaking, and swipes to answer the call.

“Wynonna?” she breathes.

“Hey, 'sup, babygirl,” Wynonna says with a sigh. “You home?” 

“Yeah. Where are you?”

“On my way over, if you still wanna talk.”

“Yes!" Waverly says quickly. "I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. I--”

“I know,” Wynonna says, cutting her off. “I’ll be there in a minute, okay? Meet me out front. I can’t stay long.”

“Okay.” Waverly pushes her chair back with a screech, clutching the blanket around her shoulders with her free hand as she hurries to the hall closet in search of shoes. “See you soon,” she says, stuffing her feet into a pair of old cheer sneakers without bothering to untie the laces.

“Don’t tell Curtis and Gus I’m coming,” Wynonna says, and then hangs up.

Waverly slips out the front door, closing it silently behind herself. For a September in Purgatory, the weather is unusually warm, but she shivers with a mixture of sudden relief and nerves. Taking a seat on the front porch steps, she draws the blanket snugly about herself and looks out across the front yard. Their house sits on the edge of a few acres of ranch outside Purgatory. Night has fallen, and it's quiet except for the rustle of leaves and a few hopeful crickets singing in the tall grass surrounding the yard.

This is her last chance. She has to ask Wynonna. They _have_ to talk about it.

It's not long before a run-down red sedan pulls up to the gate. Waverly stands and hurries down the steps, breaking into a jog as she crosses the yard in the dark. She doesn't recognize the car or the driver--some white guy with a beard--but that's not surprising: Wynonna is always bumming rides from somebody or other.

Wynonna climbs out of the idling car, and Waverly takes in her appearance as she approaches: sheer black top with black bra underneath, ripped jeans, and tall black boots with more buckles than could possibly be functional. From this distance her face is obscured by darkness, but Waverly can sense her exhaustion. At the sight of her, Waverly longs to fly into her arms and cry. Just as suddenly, she's overcome with an unexpected urge to slap her. Daring to do neither and wary of Wynonna’s mood, she comes to a stop and stands, wrapped in her blanket, a few feet away.

“Hey, babygirl,” Wynonna sighs, bumping the car door closed with her hip.

“Hi,” Waverly says quietly. She glances at the driver. “Um, who’s he?”

Wynonna flaps a hand. “No one. C’mere.”

They walk around the back of the car, Waverly avoiding the heat spewing out of the exhaust pipe. Wynonna hoists herself backwards onto the trunk, where she sits with her feet propped on the bumper, elbows on her knees. Waverly remains standing, her gaze directed at the grass beneath her feet.

“Look, Waves, I’m sorry,” Wynonna begins quietly. “I know you’re upset.”

Waverly considers the inadequacy of this statement before saying, “I don’t understand. Why do you have to go?”

Her sister sighs heavily, seeming to weigh her own words before speaking. “I gotta get out of this fucking place, babygirl. It’s--” She pauses and swallows before laughing humorlessly. “I think it’s killing me,” she says. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Waves, but your big sis is a hot damn mess.”

Waverly looks up. Now it's Wynonna’s turn to stare at the ground.

“How long are you going to be gone?”

Waverly’s question is met with silence.

“Wynonna?”

“I don’t know, Waves, okay?” Wynonna says quietly. She runs a hand through her dark hair, pulling it over one shoulder. “As long as it takes.”

“As long as what takes?” Waverly asks.

Wynonna glances over her shoulder at the house, the lights in the windows aglow. “Have Gus and Curtis calmed down about it yet?” she asks, avoiding the question.

“You could ask them,” Waverly says quietly.

Wynonna’s gaze meets Waverly’s briefly before she pushes off the trunk and walks slowly past her sister, arms crossed tightly across her chest.

“Wynonna,” Waverly says, turning.

“What?” Wynonna sounds exasperated. She stops and looks at Waverly.

Sparing a glance at the driver, Waverly lowers her voice, feeling her heart beat hard in her chest. “If you’re leaving, can we at least talk about… you know. Our--our past?”

Wynonna squints at her sister.

“I mean, if you’re going to be gone for a long time… what am I supposed to do about the--the Curse?” Waverly barely whispers the last two words. She feels both ridiculous for mentioning it (It's real, right? She's not making it up?) and terrified that Wynonna will blow up at her. Or worse, think that Waverly is mocking her.

Wynonna is beside Waverly in an instant, grasping her sister’s arm through the blanket. She brings her face uncomfortably close to Waverly’s, her eyes wide. “Didn’t I tell you to forget about that?” Her voice is low and intense and, maybe, a little bit frightened. “You don’t speak of it. _Ever._ ”

Waverly grimaces, swallows nervously, and says, “But we--we can’t just ignore it. Daddy wouldn’t want--”

“We don’t know what Daddy would want,” Wynnona hisses, her hand tightening painfully. “Daddy isn’t here to weigh in, is he?”

“Yeah, and look what that’s done to you.” Waverly pulls her arm out of Wynonna’s grasp.

“I did that to myself,” Wynonna retort. “It’s my own fucking fault Daddy’s not here. And you know what happens when you talk about that shit?” She spreads her arms wide. “You’re looking at it.”

Waverly stares at her sister, at a loss for words.

“If you ever listen to one thing I say, Waverly, let it be this.” Wynonna’s voice has changed; she's pleading quietly now, taking her sister's face firmly into her cool hands. She looks directly into Waverly’s eyes. “Don’t _ever_ talk about it again.”

Waverly feels her face grow warm as tears come to her eyes. She takes a wavering breath but meets Wynonna’s sharp gaze with her own. The rattle of the idling car, the muffled radio, the insect song all seem distorted, ringing in Waverly’s ears. Her mouth quivers as she fights to keep the tears from falling.

“Babygirl,” Wynonna murmurs. She slips her arms around Waverly’s neck, pulling her against herself with a sigh. Waverly rests her head on her sister’s shoulder. Wynonna’s hair is soft against her face, and despite the sour scent of cigarette smoke and alcohol she buries her face deeper against the curve of Wynonna’s neck, squeezing her eyes shut. She takes slow, careful breaths through her mouth, trying hard not to sob.

“You have it good here,” Wynonna murmurs, running a hand down the back of Waverly’s head. “You’re safe, and cared for, and you have good things going for you. Please. _Please,_ Waverly. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

They stand there for a moment, Waverly savoring the feeling of Wynonna’s hand on the back of her head, her fingers tucking strands of hair behind her ear. With a corner of the blanket still clutched in each fist, she wraps her arms tightly around Wynonna’s waist. “When are you leaving?” she asks, her voice thick.

“Soon,” Wynonna says, still stroking her sister comfortingly. “One more week at Pussy Willow’s. Savin’ up those tips. You know how I do.”

Waverly feels a sudden flash of desperation. She wants to beg Wynonna not to go, wants to tell her she can't make it without her, wants to say something cruel to guilt her into staying.

But she just stands there in her sister’s arms, Wynonna’s mesh top rough against her damp cheek.

 

* * *

 

“Dude.” Jeremy slides onto the bench across from Nicole in their usual spot in the crowded cafeteria on Wednesday. He leans across the table and says, “Robin talked to me after chemistry today.”

Nicole raises her eyebrows and bites a baby carrot in half. “Really? What about?”

“Homework.”

“Ah.” Nicole nods.

“It was magical,” Jeremy says. “And he was totally giving me eyes in the hallway just now.”

“You’re sure he was looking at you?”

Jeremy scoffs and says with confidence, “One hundred percent.” He stirs a styrofoam container of red liquid sitting in the center of his hot lunch tray.

“Is that supposed to be chili?” Nicole asks, wrinkling her nose as Jeremy slurps a spoonful. “There’s, like, a single bean in it.”

Jeremy nods in agreement as he swallows. “Basically hot tomato juice. But I need my energy if I’m going to woo Robin during PE.”

“Oh my god.”

“Badminton today. Gotta impress.”

Nicole looks at him doubtfully, one eyebrow raised. “Are you any good?” she asks. She's never before heard Jeremy express interest in any sort of sport.

“It’s less about my skills and more about me wearing shorts and handling a shuttlecock.”

“Is that… sexy?” Nicole asks, stifling a laugh.

“You know it,” Jeremy says, vigorously dunking a pale breadstick in his soup.

“Wow. You’re really crushing on him, then?” Nicole asks. “I feel like this is a sudden development.” Sudden, yes, but nothing new: Nicole's heard about many of Jeremy’s crushes over the last couple of years, none of which have come to fruition despite Jeremy’s persistent yearning.

“Well, listen," Jeremy says, setting his spoon on his tray. "It’s senior year. He’s _probably_ the only other gay guy in this school--possibly in this entire town--which means I might actually have a chance. I feel sufficiently mentally prepared to make a move. I've been psyching myself up for, like, days. Plus, have you seen him? He’s actually adorable.”

“True,” Nicole concedes with a nod, and Jeremy grins happily, which makes her smile.

“But!” he exclaims. “Enough about me. Did you get around to reading that comic yet?”

“Yes,” Nicole says, drawing out the word as she pulls a tinfoil-wrapped sandwich from her brown paper bag and prepares herself for a round of Jeremy's not-so-subtle questions.

“Well? What’d you think?” Jeremy asks eagerly, encouraging her with a wave of his stained-orange plastic spoon.

“It was good,” Nicole hedges. “I liked it. Is there a second volume?”

“Ugh, no. I dunno if they’re making another, even.” Jeremy pouts exaggeratedly as he delivered this disappointing news.

“What? You started me down a dead end?” Nicole drops her sandwich in exasperation.

Jeremy grimaces. “Sorry, dude. The main girl is totally cute though, right?” he asks hopefully.

“Mmm,” Nicole hums noncommittally. “Not so cute now that I know there’s _only one volume._ So do you harbor a secret desire to work in a record store or something?”

“They worked in a CD store. It was the nineties,” Jeremy corrects her. “But nah. I _would,_ however, be down if you decided to start a fight club.”

Nicole snorts. “Who would be in it, just me and you?”

“And Robin,” Jeremy says. “Obviously.”

“And we’re going to fight… what, each other? You know I could take you in a fight any day,” Nicole points out. “Probably you _and_ Robin. At the same time.”

Jeremy pouts in mock indignation. “You’re not _that_ much stronger than I am.”

“Oh yeah? Wanna arm wrestle?” Nicole plunks her elbow on the table and wiggles her fingers at Jeremy, inviting him to participate.

“ _Annnnd_ you could extend a fight club invitation to someone of _your_ choosing,” Jeremy says quickly, eager to avoid any and all physical competitions with Nicole.

“Oh, thanks,” Nicole says, smirking.

“Anyone you want. Anyone at all,” Jeremy continues.

“Great,” Nicole says, nodding along amusedly.

“So no arm wrestling necessary,” Jeremy says. He gives Nicole a wide smile before taking a bite of limp lettuce salad. Then he wrinkles his nose at her.

She wrinkles hers in response and removes her elbow from the table.

 

* * *

 

Cheerleading practice offers a minor respite from the constant mental replay of the previous night’s conversation with Wynonna, but the worry has come flooding back by the time Waverly makes her way from the gym to the locker room after practice with the rest of the squad. In a bit of a daze, she stuffs her pom poms into her gym locker and closes it, clicking the padlock shut. When she turns around, she's startled to find several sets of eyes on her.

“Hello? Waverly?” Sonja raises her eyebrows; she’s paused in tying her shoelaces and was clearly addressing Waverly a moment earlier.

“Sorry--what?” Waverly says.

“I said, is everything okay?” Sonja asks. “You’re super spaced out today.” The other girls continue to dress, pulling sweatshirts over their heads and tossing t-shirts into lockers while keeping a careful eye on the exchange.

“I’m fine,” Waverly says in what she hopes was a cheerful tone, trying to smile normally.

“Is it because your sister’s leaving town?” Rachel asks. All eyes jump to her before returning quickly to Waverly, who is so surprised she can't think of anything to say. A couple of the girls cast her sympathetic looks; the others look away, pretending disinterest.

“I don’t think that’s really any of our business,” Chrissy says, and Waverly feels a rush of affection for her friend.

“It is if we’ve got a distracted flyer on our hands,” Rachel snaps.

Waverly frowns in indignation, but before she has a chance to defend herself, Chrissy says, “Please. Waverly’s performances are never anything but perfect, and you know it.”

Waverly flashes Chrissy a grateful smile before turning to Rachel. “How did you…?”

“Champ told me,” Rachel answers, slamming her locker.

“When were you with Champ?” Waverly asks quickly.

“God, relax. We have class together.”

“Where’s Wynonna moving to, Waverly?” Sonja asks, clearly trying to defuse the situation.

“Uh,” Waverly looks at Sonja, still distracted by the thought that Champ and Rachel were talking about her and Wynonna, especially in a place where other people may have overheard. “Um, Europe.”

Rachel had slung her bag over her shoulder and was heading toward the exit. “Probably running away from her _demons_ ,” she says without bothering to turn her head. A few of the girls look at Waverly with open curiosity, clearly hoping she'll respond, but Waverly is flustered. Her ears ring. Her mouth opens and closes, and then she feels Chrissy place a hand between her shoulder blades.

“Let’s go,” Chrissy mumbles, gently urging Waverly forward. She's got Waverly’s backpack in her hand. Waverly takes it from her and starts walking with Chrissy toward the exit.

*****

A few blocks from the school, Chrissy turns the car radio off and glances at Waverly in the passenger seat. “Hey. You okay? Rachel is an idiot.”

Waverly stares ahead through the windshield. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Waverly's been agonizing over whether to talk to Chrissy all day. It's probably a stupid thing to do; after all, it goes directly against Wynonna’s wishes. But her skin is crawling with so much anxiety that she thinks she might lose it if she doesn't find some sort of release soon. Gus is out, obviously. And Curtis--well, he can't keep anything a secret from Gus.

“I’m not sure how to say it,” she admits. She reaches for her ponytail, pulls it over her shoulder and runs her fingers through it nervously, considering her words. She takes a shaky breath before slowly asking, “Has your dad ever mentioned anything about, like, my family?”

“What do you mean?” Chrissy asks.

“I mean like, my family’s past,” Waverly says, stumbling a bit over the words.

Chrissy looks concerned and glances uncomfortably at Waverly. “You mean about your dad? I… I know what happened, Waves,” she says softly, sounding confused.

“No. No.” Waverly rubs her forehead with one hand. “Not that. Everybody knows that.” She tries to laugh, but she feels as though she can't catch her breath. This is harder than she thought it’d be. “I just thought your dad, since he’s the sheriff and all, might have said something about--I mean, I thought maybe my dad had mentioned something to him about a--a curse.”

Each second of Chrissy’s silence seems to stretch into an eternity as Waverly scrambles mentally. Should she take it back, claim it was all a joke?

Finally, Chrissy laughs quietly. “Waverly. What?”

Waverly’s heart thunders in her chest. She can't believe she's talking about this. “When my sisters and I were little, my dad told us these stories about this curse.”

“What kind of curse?” Chrissy asks.

“He--he seemed to think that there were these… _things_ after him. He had a word for them; I can’t remember. They were like… demons,” Waverly says quietly.

Chrissy shoots Waverly a glare. “Waves. Don’t say that,” she says sharply.

“What?”

“Don’t talk about that. What are you even talking about?” Chrissy asks.

Waverly stares at her, taken aback. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

Chrissy huffs out a sigh. “Nothing’s _wrong._ You just shouldn’t--I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“I just thought--your dad used to work with my dad, and I thought--”

“My dad’s not like your dad,” Chrissy says shortly.

Waverly falls silent as they turn onto the unmarked county road leading to the McCready ranch. She realizes she's trembling and takes a slow, wavering breath. A dull pain settles in her throat as she tries not to cry.

Chrissy pulls up in front of Gus and Curtis’s house a few long, silent minutes later and puts the car in park. She sighs. “I’m sorry, Waves,” she says, not quite meeting Waverly’s eyes.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Waverly mumbles, shaking her head and opening her door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Chrissy says.

Waverly nods, pressing her lips together in some semblance of a smile as she scrambles out of the car and up the front porch steps. Gus shouts a greeting from somewhere within the house, which Waverly ignores as she hurries upstairs to run a bath. Tossing her clothing to the floor piece by piece, she steps into the tub, wincing as she lowers herself into the warmth.

Water thunders onto the tops of her feet, the roar filling her ears as her head slips below the surface. The heat of the water, the slickness of the tub beneath her shoulder blades draws her awareness gradually back into her body. Holding her breath until her lungs ache, she feels surrounded and secure, momentarily weightless.

When she comes back up she's a bit calmer, as if she’s regained some control of her thoughts. She turns the faucet off and lays back.

Despite Chrissy’s evasiveness, Waverly suspects that she does know something of the strangeness of Purgatory. But how _much_ , Waverly has no idea. She herself hardly knows anything.

Talking about it is risky--Wynonna is proof of that--but her sister’s imminent departure has left Waverly feeling vulnerable. Wynonna is the only person who will acknowledge that something seems to be lurking, as if lying in wait, beneath the surface of Purgatory. Wynonna refuses to discuss it, but still, she makes Waverly feel as if she hasn't lost her mind.

Waverly has always believed Wynonna. No matter that Gus refuses to acknowledge their past. No matter that people in town think that Wynonna is nuts, a lost cause, destroyed by the tragic death of her father at her own hands.

Waverly knows her memories are real. She believes her sister.

And she needs to know more.

*****

“Uncle Curtis?” Waverly leans into the doorway of the living room where her aunt and uncle are watching the evening news.

“Eh?” Curtis grunts, looking over at her.

“Can I borrow your truck?”

“It’s seven o’clock on a school night,” Gus says, muting the tv. “Just where are you goin’?”

“The library,” Waverly says. Now that the idea has taken root, she knows she won't be able to sleep tonight unless she has at least _started_ her search for information. She feels unsettled, as though her mind is squirming and will keep prodding her until she's done something.

“The public library?” Gus asks, and Waverly nods. “Waverly, girl, I love ya, but if you think I’m going to believe--”

“No, seriously. I’m supposed to do some research for a local history project.” Technically this is true, but she tamps down a twinge of guilt. “I need the archives."

“Local history, huh?” Curtis says, perking up. “Now, I could tell you some wild--”

“Curtis,” Gus interrupts sharply. “Fine,” she says to Waverly. “The library closes at nine. Your butt had best be back in this house by 9:15, and not a minute later.”

“It will be. Thank you!” Waverly hurries to the front hall, grabbing Curtis’s keyring off the hook by the door.

 

* * *

 

Like most evenings, the library is quiet on Wednesday. Books have been pulled for holds, full carts have been reshelved. There is one patron browsing the DVDs and two chatting quietly near the periodicals. Jean, the evening librarian, has retreated to the back office to get some work done, so Nicole is stationed at circulation--her favorite spot, as she is free to search the online catalog for gay books (mostly) uninterrupted.

Tonight she's pulled Alison Bechdel’s graphic memoir _Fun Home_ off the shelf and has it open on the counter in front of her. She's making her way steadily through when about halfway into the book she yawns, turns a page, and catches a glimpse of the top panel: Alison lying on her stomach in bed, with a book held open in one hand and the other shoved down the front of her jeans.

Nicole’s stomach plunges. Quickly, she pulls the book down onto her lap and glances around. No one is anywhere near, of course, let alone close enough to catch her looking at an illustration of a young woman masturbating. But Nicole’s heart pounds nonetheless as she continues to read. A few pages later, another mildly salacious drawing appears: Alison and another girl naked in bed. The girl is lying between Alison’s thighs, reading aloud from a book.

Nicole stops reading and stares at the picture. Her gaze lingers on breasts, on bare thighs, on Alison’s laughing face. On two girls so close together. Her heart beats heavily.

She's so absorbed in the image that she jumps when the library door opens abruptly. Slapping the book closed, she shoves it onto a shelf beneath the counter and crosses her arms casually on the countertop.

She is surprised to see Waverly Earp walk through the door. Waverly has damp hair and a tote bag hanging off one shoulder, and she's glancing around as if she’s never seen a library before in her life. Well, Nicole certainly hasn’t ever seen her in _this_ one.

She approaches the counter, walking softly, as though she's afraid to make noise or draw attention to herself. “Hi,” she greets Nicole, a small smile on her lips.

“Hi,” Nicole says. Her face is warm. She really hopes her cheeks aren't flushed. Is it obvious that she’d been looking at naked girls? “Can I help you find something?”

“Um, I’m looking for the local archives?” Waverly says.

“Oh,” Nicole says, surprised. “They’re downstairs. I’ll show you.” She leads Waverly to the lower level. The children’s area is to the right of the staircase, and on the left is an open door, a small placard reading LOCAL ARCHIVES on the wall beside it. Nicole walks in, flipping on the lights to illuminate a small room lined with shelves of labeled boxes, books, and thick three-ring binders.

Waverly lingers in the doorway, looking around. In the center of the room is a boxy machine that looks a bit like an old-fashioned computer, sans keyboard. Nicole notices Waverly eyeing it. “That’s a microfiche reader,” she explains. “For looking at old newspapers and stuff. The microfiche is in that cabinet.” She points.

“Oh,” Waverly says, wide eyed.

“I don’t really know much about this collection,” Nicole says apologetically. “We have an archivist, but she’s not here right now. Do you want me to get the librarian?”

“Oh, no, that’s all right,” Waverly says. “I’ll just look around a bit, if that’s okay.”

“Sure,” Nicole says. “Just let me know if you change your mind.”

Waverly gives her a small smile and moves aside as Nicole slips out through the doorway. “Thanks,” Waverly says, and Nicole raises her hand in acknowledgement, returning her smile.

Back at the desk, Nicole retrieves _Fun Home_ from beneath the counter but doesn't open it. Drumming her fingers on the cover, she wonders why in the world Waverly Earp would be looking up local history. The only people she’s ever seen using the archives are older folks doing genealogy stuff. Waverly is smart, but she's also one of the super popular kids: basically, the last person Nicole would’ve expected to visit the archives.

She looks down at her yellow polo, suddenly vaguely embarrassed and certain that Waverly thinks she's a total nerd. And she’d been looking at a naked lesbian comic seconds before Waverly came in. Wonderful. She groans internally.

Her thoughts drift to what she knows of Waverly. Purgatory is a small town; the fact that her sister shot their father to death when they were kids is common knowledge. Most people know Wynonna spent some time either in juvie or psychiatric care before entering the foster system. Waverly was raised by the McCreadys. Nicole wonders if they're related. And wasn’t there a third sister?

Then she wonders how it would feel to know that every time someone looked at you, they thought of all the horrible, private family stuff in your past, and she feels a little bit guilty.

Eventually she returns to _Fun Home_ and finishes it just before closing. At 8:45, she heads downstairs to pick up the Legos and toy trucks and puppets scattered around the kids’ room, turning the lights off when she's done.

At the threshold of the archives, she pauses. Waverly is sitting cross-legged on the floor, a box open next to her. She has some old papers scattered in her lap and is jotting something in a notebook propped on her right knee. Nicole watches her for a moment, expecting her to look up, but she doesn't. “Um”--Nicole raps her fingers gently against the doorframe, and Waverly’s head jerks up--”Sorry. I just wanted to let you know we’re closing in a few minutes.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” Waverly shuffles the papers together in her lap. “I’ll get cleaned up.”

“No worries,” Nicole says, watching. Waverly’s eyes look tired. Really, she doesn't appear entirely well. Nicole realizes vaguely that she’s never before looked this closely at Waverly Earp’s face. She's very beautiful. “Can I help?” she asks.

“Oh, no, it’s okay. It all goes in this box here,” Waverly says, returning papers to folders and layering everything carefully in the box. She fits the lid on and slides it back onto the shelf. “There we go.”

Nicole waits as Waverly grabs her bag, and they leave the room together, Nicole locking it behind them. “Find what you’re looking for?”

Waverly looks surprised that Nicole asked. Shrugging one shoulder, she says, “Sort of.” Nicole is dying to ask her what exactly it was she was searching for, but she restrains herself. Library patrons have a right to privacy, after all.

They head upstairs, Nicole directing her gaze at her own feet as she climbs the steps behind Waverly. On the main floor, Waverly gives her a little wave and says, “Well, thanks.”

Nicole smiles. “Have a good night."

“You, too.”

She watches as Waverly leaves, looking down as she walks, soft brown hair falling over her shoulders.

*****

Hours later Nicole lays in bed, eyes closed but awake. She checked out _Fun Home_ and looked once more at the pictures before turning her lamp off and pulling the quilt up to her chin.

The image of Waverly Earp sitting on the floor alone, placing folders back in the box, floats in and out of her mind's eye.

She thinks of the drawing of college-age Alison Bechdel’s mouth in between her girlfriend’s thighs.

She thinks of Waverly and her sister and their father.

She tries to imagine what it would be like to have her own mouth in between a girl's thighs, and she feels a sort of unidentified ache, a yearning deep in her belly, perhaps in her very bones.

She rolls onto her stomach, pushing a pillow beneath herself, pressing the heel of her palm against it. She rolls her hips, feeling her heartbeat pick up, and rolls them again, over and over, harder. Her breath comes in short bursts, her strong runner's thighs burning, until finally she slips her hand past the pillow and into her underwear, fingers moving against herself until she comes, face pressed into the mattress, free hand gripping her own hair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, all, for your lovely comments, kudos, and follows. You're wonderful.
> 
> #FightForWynonna <3


	3. In which Nicole photographs cheerleaders in a non-creepy way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Earpers, just a few thoughts now that we’re three chapters in:
> 
> It’s been challenging to write pre-show Waverly. I love her dearly, and in my opinion she is the most complex character on the show. So it’s been difficult to write this version of her, before she has truly grown into her bravery and badassery and strength. It hurts my heart to see her hurting. I also really can’t stand Champ. 
> 
> But Waverly is a survivor and a fighter at heart, and of course this story does diverge from canon, so those qualities that I admire so much in Waverly WILL be reflected in this story. 
> 
> And a quick note about Wynonna, whom I also love: I always imagined that pre-Europe Wynonna loved and was protective of her sister. But I also imagined that she had even fewer resources and skills at her disposal and was not as able to take care of herself, let alone Waverly. I think she’s doing the best she can with the cards she’s been dealt. 
> 
> There’s no real point to this note, I guess. Just sharing some of my thoughts as I work on this story. I’d love to hear your thoughts, too. 
> 
> Love, TeaPet

Waverly hisses in pain as the hot edge of the flatiron grazes her neck. Setting the straightener on a hand towel spread out on the carpet beside her, she lifts the layer of hair she’d been working on to examine her skin in the floor-length mirror attached to the door. It's a little bit pink, but it doesn't look burnt. It’ll fade soon enough.

“Y’okay?” Sonja asks, glancing Waverly’s way. She has her elbows propped on the vanity, her face inches from the mirror as she swipes mascara onto her long eyelashes.

“Yeah,” Waverly murmurs, resuming her straightening. She's sitting cross-legged on Chrissy’s bedroom floor. Music and voices ring in the bathroom across the hall, where three other girls are crowded around the sink, using the mirror to get ready for the football game.

“Champ gonna be at there tonight?” Sonja asks, tossing tubes and sticks and plastic containers of makeup back into her nearly overflowing cosmetics bag.

“Oh, yeah,” Waverly says. “He always is. You know Champ.” She pins up another layer of hair. It's getting really long, she realizes as she straightened.

“You going to Steph’s after?” Sonja asks.

“I don’t think so,” Waverly answers, just as the doorknob turns. She squeaks and scoots out of the way as Chrissy, Steph, and Rachel reenter the room, Chrissy dancing to the music swelling from the portable speaker in her palm. All three of them are made up, but their hair is still down.

“Aww, why not?” Sonja asks Waverly.

“Do me first!” Rachel flops on Chrissy’s bed.

“Okay, but you gotta sit up,” Steph says, kneeling on the bed behind her, comb in hand. She unzips a bag and pulls out several hair ties and a thick, blue and white ribbon while Rachel rearranges herself, tossing her hair over her shoulders.

“Hanging with Champ.” Waverly shrugs apologetically at Sonja. She knows she’ll be missing out on squad bonding, but she hasn’t spent any one-on-one time with Champ in a while. She unplugs the flatiron and runs a brush through her hair.

“Awww, Waves, tonight? You mean you’re not going to Steph’s?” Chrissy asks. She kneels behind Waverly, taking the brush from her hand and running it smoothly through Waverly’s long, soft hair. Their eyes meet in the mirror, and Chrissy pouts. “I’ll miss you.”

Yesterday, the morning after their tense exchange about supernatural goings-on, Chrissy seemed determined to act as though the whole thing had never happened, which was not particularly surprising and came as something of a relief to Waverly. She's on her own with this. She understands that now. She can be unruffled by the whole thing. She can act like everything is normal between them. In fact, she's exceptionally good at pretending cheerfulness. She’s been doing it for a long time.

Plus, Chrissy has always been a solid presence in her life. There's no need to make waves.

Chrissy’s fingers part a portion of Waverly’s hair into three strands as she begins a French braid on the left side of her head. Waverly loves having her hair done. She shivers at the gentle scratch of Chrissy’s fingernails, feeling goosebumps rise on her scalp, and closes her eyes.

She spends a lot of time with the girls on the squad. They know most of what's happened in her life—everyone does—yet somehow, she rarely feels truly close to the other girls. It's the way they interact: sometimes seemingly in competition, other times fiercely defensive of one another. Waverly can't quite understand it, and she sometimes feels... not unsafe, but not totally comfortable with them.

But moments like these, with their small group all together doing one another’s hair, anticipating the upcoming game, are exceptions. In these moments, she feels like she belongs.

“She’s gotta keep her boy toy happy,” Steph says from the bed, and Waverly rolls her eyes at the term, trying not to grin as the other girls laugh (except for Rachel, who groans). “I bet he wants it all the time.”

“Not _all_ the time,” Waverly protests, her cheeks growing warm as everyone makes teasing sounds and laughs delightedly.

“Is he any good in bed?” Sonja asks curiously. She's sprawled on her stomach on the floor now, painting her nails on the back of an old issue of _Seventeen._ “I mean, no offense, but he strikes me as the kind of guy who wouldn’t care, like, whether the girl was actually enjoying it.”

“Has he ever gone down on you?” Steph asks, her question nearly overlapping Sonja’s comment.

“Doubt it,” Sonja says, and then raises her eyebrows excitedly. “Hey, does he have any hidden tats?”

“Oh my god, guys,” Chrissy says.

“Oh, come on, we need to know these things,” Sonja says. “Some of us are still virgins. It’s like research.”

“Virginity is a construct,” Chrissy exclaims, laughing.

“How come you never ask Steph this stuff?” Waverly says self-consciously. “She dated Brendan!”

“That ended, like, six months ago,” Steph says, sounding completely over it. Waverly can practically hear her rolling her eyes.

“Old news,” Sonja complains. “Besides, we already know how _that_ trainwreck went.”

“Maybe some of us aren’t interested in the details of Waverly’s sex life,” Rachel says loudly.

There's a lull in the conversation as Waverly glances at Rachel in the mirror. She's concentrating on her fingernails, looking bored and annoyed as Steph yanks her hair through an elastic and then picks up a ribbon.

“Okay, just tell us this,” Sonja says. “Is he a gentleman?”

Rachel and Steph snort at the question.

“No, really,” Sonja says. “Do you like being with him?” She looks at Waverly. The other girls wait for her response.

“Yeah, of course,” Waverly says. “I mean, he’s Champ Hardy.” She makes a silly face, trying to lighten the moment. Her heart is beating harder than normal.

“Do you love him?” Chrissy asks as she reached for a hair tie.

“Oh, I-I don’t know,” Waverly laughs quietly.

She's relieved when Rachel glances at her phone then and gives them all a thirty-minute warning.

 

* * *

 

Nicole hovers awkwardly in the end zone before the start of the game, feeling conspicuous with a large camera bumping against her chest. Jostling her way to the front of the crowd, she cranes her neck in search of a clear view. This being the first game of the season, Mx. Kolisnyk, her journalism teacher, had reminded her to get some photos of all the pregame nonsense as well as some action shots.

(They hadn’t actually referred to it as “nonsense,” but that’s how Nicole thinks of it.

“Mx. Kolisnyk, are you expecting me to write about the game, like, in detail?” Nicole had asked. “Because I just want to remind you that I don’t exactly understand all the rules…”

“You just worry about the pictures, and try to get a few quotes at the end,” Mx. Kolisnyk had said. “I’ve got Everett on sports, too. He’ll take care of the details of the game.”

And Nicole had breathed a sigh of relief.)

“Fuck it,” she says under her breath, and actually squeezes her way out onto the field, walking a few yards and stationing herself at one end of the “tunnel” of cheerleaders. They've formed two lines, facing each other, their silvery pom poms reaching overhead, shimmering in the bright field lights. The spectators in the stands are on their feet, waiting for the players to take the field.

As the first notes of Guns N’ Roses’ “Welcome to the Jungle” blares over the speakers, the cheerleaders begin to scream and shake their poms, some of them dancing in place. Nicole lifts the camera to her eye, snapping pictures as the football team jogs through the human tunnel and pours onto the field, grabbing each other’s face masks and bumping chests in an impressive display of teen masculinity before making their way toward the benches.

The cheerleaders follow, streaming past on either side of Nicole, laughing and talking, their pom poms rustling.

 

*****

 

For the first half of the game, Nicole wanders along the edge of the field on the home team’s side, snapping game play pictures and giving the cheerleaders a wide berth whenever she crosses in front of them. (They kick a lot.)

She can't help but be affected by the energy of the game. Football is huge in Purgatory; there isn’t much else to do on a Friday night, and the team isn’t half bad. The cool night air smells deliciously of charcoal-grilled brats and burgers. The bleachers are packed with fans, and students walk in packs on the track that ring the field, talking and laughing and jumping on each other’s backs, munching sticky caramel apples and popcorn so salty it chaps their lips.

At halftime, as the team leaves the field for the locker room, Jeremy surprises Nicole with a tap on the back as she stands with her hands on her hips between the benches at the fifty-yard line. She's looking up and can see winged insects flitting about, glowing white against the black sky.

“How’s it going?” Jeremy asks. “Getting some good shots?”

“I think so,” Nicole says. “It’s hard to tell, but I’ve taken a million, so surely some of them are good.”

“Probability-wise, that’s likely,” Jeremy says, nodding.

“How are things with you-know-who?” Nicole asks him as the cheerleading squad takes the field for their halftime show, jumping around and waving their pom poms excitedly. “Score any free candy yet?”

“Two bags of Skittles,” Jeremy says proudly. “Original flavor. Did you know they switched lime out for green apple?”

“I did not,” says Nicole, who holds no strong opinions about Skittles.

“It’s heinous,” Jeremy says.

“Well, two free bags sounds like a good sign, anyway,” Nicole says. “Have you guys been talking, or is it too busy?”

“We’ve been talking! I mean, okay, I spent the first quarter lurking—like, crossing back and forth in front of the concession stand like a ninja—but then he spotted me and actually waved me over!”

Nicole laughs. “I’m happy for you.”

Music blares suddenly from the enormous speakers stationed on either side of them, and Nicole and Jeremy turn to look out at the cheerleaders. They're arranged in the shape of a diamond, dancing rather suggestively to a mashup of pop songs. Waverly Earp is right in front.

“Dang,” Jeremy says appreciatively. “They are _polished_.”

The diamond formation dissolves as the cheerleaders rearrange themselves, never staying in one place for more than a few seconds. Nicole’s gaze follows Waverly.

She can move in ways that Nicole never, in a million years, will be able to: her body rolls, her hips pop, her foot sails above her head when she kicks. There's a huge bow tied at the base of her ponytail, and she moves like her hair is a fifth limb, whipping it around as she dances. She looks tiny and perfect in her uniform, a bright smile on her face.

Nicole thinks of the tired eyes she saw in the library a few nights ago. It's as though Waverly is an entirely different person tonight.

“Hey, you should take some pictures of them,” Jeremy says, prodding her in the ribs. She looks at him, and he tilts his head toward the center of the field, urging her on. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“Well—”

“Hurry! Before the music ends,” Jeremy says.

Nicole takes a few steps forward and brings the viewfinder to her eye. She zooms in on different girls as they dance, trying to get them in the middle of a high kick or some equally impressive move.

When the music ends, the cheerleaders hold their final pose, breathing hard as the audience applauds. Then they move smoothly into three clusters on the field, chanting and clapping. In the group on the right, Waverly is lifted high into the air. She stands balanced on one leg, one foot held above her head, the other planted on the palms of the girls beneath her.

Nicole snaps a picture.

And then Waverly is tossed into the air, where she folds before falling neatly into the net of her squadmates’ arms.

 

*****

 

After awkwardly snagging the coach, the quarterback, and a couple of other players for quotes after the game, Nicole makes her way off the field and over to the concession stand, walking against the flow of people headed toward the parking lot. Jeremy is leaning on the counter, chatting with Robin, who's piling leftover boxes of candy in a large plastic tub for safekeeping as other student workers clean the greasy popcorn machine and count cash.

She places her elbows on the counter, shoulder to shoulder with Jeremy.

“Hey! My favorite ginger,” he greets her. “Robin, this is my friend Nicole.”

“I know who you are,” Robin says, smiling and holding out a hand to shake. “I see you running around town. Like, literally. Running. Around town. ”

“Oh!” Nicole says. “Yep, I do that sometimes.”

“More like all the time,” Jeremy corrects her. “She’s training for a half marathon.”

“Impressive,” Robin says, actually sounding impressed, although Nicole is embarrassed. “Nice camera,” he says, glancing at it where it hangs from her neck.

“Oh,” she says, “thanks. It’s the school’s. I’m in journalism. I had to take pictures of the game.”

“And the cheerleaders,” Jeremy says, grinning at her, and Nicole considers punching him in the arm.

“Speaking of cheerleaders,” Robin says, looking over Nicole’s and Jeremy’s shoulders. “Waves!” Nicole and Jeremy turn around as he waves his arm.

Waverly Earp is walking along the track behind them, holding onto Champ Hardy’s arm. Nicole’s heart jumps at the sight of her.

“Robin!” Waverly returns his wave excitedly, says something to Champ, and then jogs toward the concession stand, pom pom strands peeking out of the bag bouncing on her shoulder. Champ hangs back, looking impatient, and Nicole and Jeremy part as Waverly leans over the counter between them to give Robin a hug.

“You look fabulous,” Robin says, holding her hands, and secretly Nicole agrees. Waverly has thrown a sweatshirt on over her cheerleading top, leaving her legs bare under her skirt. A few flyaway strands of hair float loosely around her face. She smiles hugely at Robin, and Nicole notices that her eyes crinkle in the corners when she does so.

Nicole tugs awkwardly at her quarter-zip athletic top, pulling the sleeves down over her hands and slipping her thumbs through the thumb holes. She isn’t sure where to look. At Waverly? Should she wander away now?

“Hey, I heard about Wynonna,” Robin says, his mouth turning down in a sympathetic pout, and Nicole feels even more intrusive. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, I don’t--” Waverly waves a hand hastily and looks down. “We don’t have to talk about that.”

Watching Waverly evade Robin’s questions, Nicole’s heart swells with a sudden rush of feeling. It's the same thing she felt standing in the doorway of the archives room on Wednesday as she watched Waverly hastily repack the box of documents. Tenderness.

“You sure you’re okay?” Robin asks.

“Yep,” Waverly says shortly. She glances at Jeremy.

“Oh! This is Jeremy,” Robin says belatedly.

“Hi,” Waverly says, drawing out the word, as if she’s heard of Jeremy and is glad to finally meet him.

Jeremy smiles and nods at her. “And that’s my friend Nicole,” he says, pointing over Waverly’s shoulder.

Waverly spins on her heel to look at Nicole.

“Oh!” she says, her eyes widening a bit when she sees Nicole’s face, and Nicole knows instantly that she recognizes her from the library.

“Hi, again,” Nicole says, smiling as her stomach feels like it's slowly flipping over on itself. Interacting with Waverly Earp twice in the span of a few days, in such contrasting contexts, is strangely jarring. It's as if the order of her little universe has been disrupted.

“Do you guys know each other?” Robin asks, looking between them.

“Oh. Uh--” Waverly says, looking at Nicole. She brings a hand up to tug nervously at her ponytail.

“Nope,” Nicole says quickly, rescuing her, “ _but_ I was just taking pictures of her.” Waverly tilts her head, and Nicole dies a little bit as embarrassment blooms on her cheeks. “For the school paper, I mean,” she says hurriedly, lifting the camera. “At halftime. When you were dancing. Not in a creepy way.”

_God, Nicole, shut up._

“Cool,” Waverly says, grinning kindly at her.

“You’re amazing,” Nicole blurts. “I could never dance like that.”

“Oh. Well,” Waverly says, brushing off the compliment. “Many years of practice, hours of sitting in the splits. You know.” This time Nicole’s cheeks grow warm at the thought of Waverly doing the splits. She mentally scrambles for something else to say, but just then Champ shouts at Waverly.

“Babe!” He's trudging slowly towards them across the track, his head tilted back in exasperation. “You coming or what?”

“I gotta go. It was nice to meet you two,” Waverly says, speaking quickly. “Robin, let’s hang out soon.” She's backing away as she speaks, but she looks at Nicole. “If you ever need to interview a cheerleader for the paper or anything, let me know!”

“Okay,” Nicole says, a big, stupid grin spreading across her face. She can feel Jeremy looking at her.

Waverly holds her gaze for a moment, and then she's gone, returning to Champ, reattaching herself to his arm. Nicole watches as they resume their walk to the parking lot.

Abruptly, as if someone has struck a match in her gut, she knows: She has a crush on Waverly Earp.

 

* * *

 

 Champ lives a few blocks from the football field, in a one-story brick ranch house. He and Waverly head straight downstairs to the finished basement, which has a small sitting area, television, and wet bar, along with his bedroom.

“So who were you talking to back there?” Champ asks, flipping the lights on and tossing his keys onto the countertop. He opens the mini fridge on the other side, pulling out two cans of Bud Lite.

“Who, Robin?” Waverly asks, taking a seat on a stool at the counter. “You know Robin Jett, don’t you?”

“Is he the gay one?” Champ asks, popping the tops of both cans. He slurps noisily from one and slides the other over to Waverly. “In the orchestra or whatever?”

“Jazz band,” Waverly corrects him. “We don’t have an orchestra. And don’t call him ‘the gay one,’ Champ.”

“Well, isn’t he?”

“He is gay.”

“Well,” Champ says, leaning his elbows on the counter, bringing himself down to Waverly’s eye level, “I’m not wrong then, am I?” He grins charmingly at her, and she sighs in defeat.

“I think he might have met someone,” she says. “This guy Jeremy.”

“Was that the other dude?”

“Yep.” Waverly takes a sip of her beer.

“You mean there are two gay ones?” Champ asks, walking around the counter to stand behind her.

Waverly glances over her shoulder at him in annoyance. “Champ, stop,” she says. “Imagine if you were, like, the only straight person in this whole town. How would you feel?”

“Horny as hell,” Champ says, his huge hands kneading her shoulders. She rolls her eyes, sorry she asked.

“But that’s nothing new,” he says, leaning down to put his mouth against her ear. “You looked so fucking hot out there tonight, babe. I could barely contain myself watching you in that damn skirt.” He sucks on her earlobe before kissing the skin below it. Then he stands up and takes a swig of beer.

“Was that that Haught chick?” he asks abruptly. “The redhead?”

“What hot chick?” Waverly asasksked, startled. She follows him to the couch, where he sprawls, taking up two cushions. She sits on the edge next to his hips.

“ _Haught_ ,” Champ says. “Haught, not hot. H-A-U… G… something. It’s her last name,” he says impatiently.

“Ohh,” Waverly says, shrugging. “I don’t know her last name. But her name’s Nicole.”

“Yeah, well, her last name’s Haught." He seems to consider something for a second, and then says, "I guess she _is_ kinda hot. If you’re into that.”

Waverly stares at him. “Into _what_?”

“I dunno, sporty butch types?” Champ says.

“I wouldn’t exactly call her ‘butch,’” Waverly says, her face growing warm. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being butch, at all, but I wouldn’t call _her_ butch. Definitely athletic, though.” She pauses, feeling as though she’s said too much, then adds, “She works at the public library.”

Champ laughs. “How do you know that?” he asks. He takes the nearly full can of beer from her hand, sitting up to place it on the end table along with his own.

“I—she told me,” Waverly stutters.

Champ guffaws. “What a nerd.”

“I think she’s nice,” Waverly says as Champ tugs at her waist. She climbs reluctantly onto his lap, straddling his hips as he relaxes against the back of the couch. Her skirt is so tight that it simply rides up and bunches below her waist, revealing navy bloomers.

“I saw her taking pictures of you at halftime,” Champ says, sliding his warm hands up her thighs. “Probably _is_ a big lez.” He thrusts his hips up playfully a couple of times.

“God, Champ, it was for the school paper. Could you chill?” Waverly says, annoyed.

“All right, all right. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” Champ pulls her sweatshirt upward, waiting for her to take it off before he pulls her closer.

He kisses her hard, his tongue in her mouth without preamble. She tries to slow the pace a little, but his hands are everywhere already: gripping her hips, pulling her downward against himself. Waverly’s mind flashes suddenly to Sonja, in Chrissy’s room earlier that evening.

_Is he a gentleman?_

“Champ,” she says, but Champ just kisses her neck, sucking hard as his hands slip under her cheerleading top.

“ _Champ_ ,” she says again.

“Mm?” he murmurs against her skin.

“Were you talking to Rachel about Wynonna and me?”

“Hmm?” He kisses the corner of her mouth. She puts her hands on his shoulders and looks at him until he stops.

He sighs, deflates against the couch, and groans. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Why would you do that? You know that’s private,” Waverly says. She slips off his lap to sit beside him, tugging her skirt down over her hips, and he groans again.

“You guys are friends. What’s the big deal?”

“The _big deal_ is that it’s none of your business. I told you that in confidence, not so you could go tell the rest of the school. And you don’t even know what’s going on,” Waverly says in a rush, feeling breathless. 

“Babe, _everyone in town_ knows what’s going on with your crazy sister,” Champ says, reaching for his beer.

Waverly just stares at him as anger and frustration stampede through her body. She feels hot tears jump to her eyes. “I want you to take me home, please.” She pulls her sweatshirt on. She wants desperately to be alone all of a sudden.

“What? No,” Champ whines, clearly dismayed at the sudden turn his night has taken. “Babe, come on.”

Waverly stands up and grabs her bag. When she reaches the staircase, she hesitates, fighting her natural inclination to acquiesce, to avoid conflict at all costs. She briefly considers pretending that everything is fine, nearly turns around and apologizes for her outburst.

“I’ll be in the car,” she says quietly. Her breath comes more quickly as she walks up the stairs, heart racing, vision swimming as she grips the banister, hoping against hope that it won’t bloom into a full-blown panic attack. She takes a deep breath and does the only thing she can do: She keeps climbing.

 

* * *

 

 “Hey, hon. How was the game?”

Nicole is surprised to see her mom curled up in an armchair in the living room, a book open on her lap when she gets home.

“Oh, hey, Mom. It was fine,” she says, pausing on her way to her room.

“What did you have to do there? Interview players?”

“Kind of. Mostly I took pictures,” Nicole says.

“Get some good ones?” her mom asks, pulling her reading glasses off.

“I think so.”

“Can I see?”

“There are so many, Mom. Can I show you tomorrow?” Nicole asks, eager for the quiet solitude of her bedroom.

“Well, okay. I’m gonna be at work most of the day tomorrow, though,” her mom says. “There’s a pot of tea on the counter if you want some.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Nicole doubles back into the kitchen. She places a hand against the teapot before bothering to pour any. Stone cold, as expected. She pours a glass of water instead.

“Night, Mom,” she says on her way past.

“Night, honey.” Her mom doesn't look up from her book.

In her bedroom, Nicole wastes no time in attaching the camera to her laptop. As the photos begin to upload, she opens Facebook and searches for Waverly Earp.

There she is in her profile picture, looking ethereal against a golden sunset sky, a closed-lip smile gently lighting up her face, her eyes directed upward. Nicole wonders who took the photo, and if it was staged or candid. Probably staged. It's too perfect.

Her privacy settings prevent Nicole from seeing much of anything else. She opens Instagram on her phone, searches for Waverly. Private.

When the photos are finished uploading, Nicole spends hours clicking through, deleting the ones she knows aren’t workable, finally getting to her shots of the halftime performance.

Over half of them are of Waverly.

She looks for a long time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all! As always, thank you for commenting, subscribing, kudos-ing, and (last, but certainly not least) for reading!
> 
> -TeaPet


	4. In which Waverly and Nicole talk about everything but cheerleading

“These are great, Nicole,” Mx. Kolisnyk says. They are making the rounds during journalism class, checking in with each student’s progress, and have pulled up a chair at Nicole’s computer to look at a few of her shots from Friday’s football game. “You’ve got a good eye. But we already knew that.”

Nicole warms at the praise. She likes Mx. Kolisnyk. “Thanks,” she says, and then takes a deep breath as Mx. Kolisnyk continues clicking through the photos. “I also got a few really neat shots of the cheerleaders performing at halftime.”

“Oh? Let’s see ’em.”

Nicole opens a separate folder of photos on the screen. She’s carefully selected a few shots and edited them to near-perfection. Admittedly, she spent much more time on these than on the photos of the football players, and she's pleased with the results. The cheerleaders look pretty awesome, with their red-lipstick smiles and silvery pom poms shining under the lights.

“Really nice,” Mx. Kolisnyk comments. “These look fabulous. Did you get any quotes from them?”

“No… but actually, I wanted to talk to you about an idea I had.” Nicole picks nervously at her fingernails in her lap as she speaks. “What if I did a story on just the cheerleaders?”

“In addition to covering the games, you mean?”

“Yeah. I think I could easily do both, especially since Everett’s taking care of most of the reporting on the games.”

“Hmm.” Mx. Kolisnyk looks thoughtfully at Nicole. “You know what? I think it’s a great idea. Why celebrate only some of the PHS athletes, right?”

Nicole nods and smiles hopefully. She went through online issues of the past four years of the school paper and didn't find any significant stories on the cheerleading squad, so one was definitely due.

“Well, if you’re going to do this, let’s do it right, yeah? I don’t think we need to set a deadline—at least not yet—since their season runs year-round. Why don’t you sit in on a practice, interview a few members, the whole shebang?” Mx. Kolisnyk suggests, jotting down a few notes in their notebook as Nicole nods along. “Does that sound okay?”

“Totally. I can do that,” Nicole says, feeling her stomach squirm with a combination of nerves and excitement. Maybe she can snag Stephanie, the head cheerleader—she's in Nicole’s lit class—to schedule a good time.

But no. Even as the thought rose in her mind, Nicole knows: She'll use this as an excuse to talk to Waverly Earp.

To be perfectly honest, that’s why she wants to do the story in the first place. Sure, the cheerleaders are cool and all, but… Waverly.

For the rest of class, she considers her options. She could wait for Waverly to come back to the library and approach her then. But what if that had been a one-time visit? Or what if Nicole isn’t working the next time Waverly is there? No good.

Waverly is a junior, which means Nicole has no classes with her. Maybe she could just approach her in the hallways. PHS isn’t a big school; she’ll run into her sooner rather than later. She tries to imagine how this meeting might go. Will Waverly be with a group of friends? Most likely. Or worse, she’ll be with Champ Hardy, whom Nicole has already pegged as The Worst.

She sighs. If only she had her phone num—wait a minute.

Robin.

* * *

 

Waverly rummages through Gus’s “office”--really, just a cluttered desk in an alcove off the kitchen, where Gus handles the ranch’s finances. After a few minutes, she unearths a slightly tattered spiral-bound notebook from beneath a stack of Curtis’s old gardener’s supply catalogs. It will have to do. Ripping out a handful of scribbled-on pages, she tucks it under her arm and turns to find Curtis passing on his way to the kitchen.

“Whatcha got there, small fry?” Curtis asks, and Waverly holds up the notebook. Curtis squints good-naturedly. “That for school?”

“No,” Waverly says, shrugging. “Just…” she trails off, not sure how to finish without lying.

Curtis continues into the kitchen, where he pulls his favorite mug--so faded from years of use that the picture on it is indistinguishable--from the cupboard and pours himself a cup of coffee. How he can drink that stuff after dark is beyond Waverly, although she isn’t much of a coffee person at any time of day. She follows him, sinking into a chair at the table.

“Cup o’ joe?” Curtis asks, and Waverly shakes her head. He sits down across from her. “How ya holdin’ up?”

Waverly props her elbows on the table and rubs her face tiredly. It's been a few days since Wynonna left. She sent her final good-bye via text before unceremoniously slipping out of the country and out of Waverly’s life.

_Take care of yourself, babygirl. I won’t be gone forever._

“Me, too,” Curtis says, commiserating with Waverly as she sighs in response. “She’s a firecracker, your sister, but I sure miss her.”

Waverly feels limp, as though she’s been awash in too much emotion in recent days, and now her entire self is drained. Sitting there across from Curtis, her insides feel like a gaping, empty hole. Without thinking, she asks, “Uncle Curtis, do you ever feel like Purgatory is somehow… weird?”

Curtis studies the contents of his mug for a moment. Finally he looks up and says, “Well, honey, Purgatory certainly does have its secrets, don’t it.”

Secrets? Waverly stares at him, waiting for him to elaborate. Curtis lets out a loud sigh and leans back in his chair, gazing into the kitchen as though he isn’t really seeing it. After ten seconds of silence, Waverly prods him quietly, “What do you mean?” Curtis just glances at her, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Do these secrets have to do with my dad?” Waverly whispers.

Curtis heaves himself off the chair and begins pacing. “Oh, Waverly,” he groans, rubbing his forehead. “I told Gus you’d start asking these questions one day.” It's a non-answer that Waverly takes to mean “yes.”

“So you know about it, then,” she says, half-standing, her hands on the tabletop. “You know about the Curse.”

“Keep your voice down.” Curtis gestures hastily. “If Gus hears us--”

“When were you going to tell me?” Waverly interrupts, her voice shaky but quiet. “And Wynonna. You--you let everyone believe she was crazy.” Her heart feels like a bass drum in her chest; she feels thrilled and angry and insatiably curious. What does her uncle know? What could he tell her?

“I never said there was any curse,” Curtis says.

“You didn’t deny it,” Waverly retorts.

“Waverly.” Curtis stops pacing and looks at her. “I can’t speak to you about this.”

“What? Why? Don’t I deserve to know? Don’t I have a right to know about my own family? Uncle Curtis, please.”

Curtis shakes his head, not meeting her eyes. “You need to forget this conversation. You need to forget about it, all of it.”

“It’s my _life,_ Uncle Curtis. How can you not see how it’s shaped my entire life?” Waverly feels as though she were pleading now, begging him to acknowledge it and to understand.

“I see more than you think,” Curtis murmurs. “And I want you safe, Waverly.”

They stand in the kitchen, Waverly breathing hard, Curtis standing calmly, staring at one another.

Waverly knows that Purgatory is as ingrained in Curtis as he is in it. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd suspected he knew more than he was letting on. But she also knows that Gus turned an unseeing eye on Purgatory lore and family history, and that she doesn’t want Curtis talking about such nonsense.

Still, she's disappointed to learn that Curtis is too afraid to be honest with her. She's always trusted him. He's protective of her. He's the closest thing to a caring father she’s ever had.

After a moment she turns, grabs the notebook off the table, and leaves the room.

Upstairs, she pulls out her diary. She’d taken it to the archives and used it to jot down what she’d learned--which isn’t much. She’d found a few old records, births and deaths of a couple of Earps, although she didn’t recognize the names and wasn’t sure how they were connected to her or her father. It feels like there is a mountain of information to be found—but where is it? And how is she to go about organizing all the bits and pieces?

She copies the information into her “new” notebook, and then just slumps in her desk chair, staring at her handwriting. This is going to be harder than she thought it would be.

She wishes Wynonna were there. Not that she’d help. But still.

She hopes she's okay.

Her phone buzzes. She’d left it on her bed before going downstairs, mildly annoyed by the group texts that kept coming in. Rachel is planning a bonfire on her parents’ farm after the homecoming dance, and everyone is busy deliberating over who should be invited and who should definitely _not_ be invited.

Waverly closes her diary and notebook, slips them into the drawer of her nightstand, and flops on her bed, groping through the blankets to find her phone.

It's a text from a number she doesn’t recognize. She opens it, curious. It's surprisingly long.

_Waverly? It’s Nicole. From the library/football game. Hope it’s okay that I’m texting. Got your number from Robin. So I think I told you I’m taking journalism, and I’m hoping to do a story on the cheerleading squad. My teacher really liked the pics I got of halftime, so they want me to go to a practice and interview a few cheerleaders. Do you think anyone would be interested? I’m sorry if you’re not the right person to ask about this. Or if you feel like it’s too intrusive or weird or something you can say so. 😬😬_

Waverly’s mood lifts immediately. She smiles and quickly taps out a reply.

_Hi Nicole! Wow, nobody ever wants to write about us. 🤷🏼‍♀️ I can do an interview, if you want. I’m sure our head cheerleader Steph would do one too. And I could convince a freshman or something for some variety, if that sounds good?_

She waits, staring at her screen. A story about the squad! This will be fun.

The typing dots appear in no time. Then disappear. And then reappear once again as Waverly waits patiently.

_Great! Thank you so much. Could I also sit in on a practice?_

Waverly responds, _Totally! We practice almost every day in the gym after school, and on the field on the weekends. The gym gets kinda crowded bc of volleyball. You might wanna come on a Saturday morning instead 😊_

 _This Saturday okay?_ asks Nicole.

_Sure! 11 am_

_Cool,_ Nicole says. _Thanks! See you then 😊_

Waverly smiles. _See you ☺️_

 

* * *

 

Nicole lets out a huge breath, puffing out her cheeks and dropping her phone on the mattress where she's lying. She opens the nearest comic book ( _MoonStruck_ ) and tents it over her scrunched-up face, wanting, for the moment, to be invisible, even though she's alone in her room.

“Oy,” she mutters, her voice muffled against the smooth pages.

It’s taken her almost an entire week to work up the nerve to text Waverly, and the longer she'd waited, the more nervous she’d become, talking herself in circles. But after her run that evening she’d marched straight upstairs and, without even removing her shoes, grabbed her phone and bitten the bullet.

She thinks it went okay.

But.

“She... is... straight,” Nicole groans into the pages, scolding herself. She tries not to care that she's going to be talking to Waverly one-on-one. It's just a casual homework assignment. No big deal.

Except it is, according to her pounding heart and squirming stomach.

Her phone buzzes, and she rips the comic from her face. Waverly’s name on the screen makes her heart jump. Oh god, what if she’s changed her mind? Nicole opens the text.

_Forgot to ask when you want to do the interview._

A ridiculous wave of relief floods Nicole’s body. She starts typing, then backspaces it all. She hesitates. Waverly jumps in.

_After practice on Saturday?_

_Perfect 😊_  She sends the text and then worries that she’s used altogether too many emojis throughout their conversation. She groans again.

 

* * *

 

On Saturday morning, Waverly runs out the door and across the yard to Chrissy’s waiting car, her sneakers squelching in the wet grass, holding her jacket above her head.

“It’s raining!” she exclaims as she wrenches open the car door and climbs in.

Chrissy laughs. “It’s only drizzling. But hey, maybe we’ll get a cancelled practice.”

Waverly shivers exaggeratedly and slips her arms into the sleeves of her PHS cheer windbreaker. At least they don’t have to wear their uniforms today. She’s dressed in a long-sleeve shirt, PHS hoodie, and baggy sweatpants with shorts underneath. October in Purgatory is no joke. As Chrissy pulls onto the road, Waverly cranks up the heat in the car.

“So, _who’s_ coming to our practice today?” Chrissy asks. “Someone from the school paper?”

“Her name’s Nicole,” Waverly says. “She’s a senior. Champ said her last name is Haught. Do you know her?”

“I don’t think so. But Champ does?”

“He seemed to know _of_ her.” Waverly shrugs. “She seems nice. I’m sure you’ve seen her: shoulder-length red hair, pretty tall. She’s cute.”

“Well, her last name _is_ ‘hot,’ after all,” Chrissy says, and Waverly hits Chrissy’s arm lightly with the back of her hand.

“Haught, not hot.”

“I don’t hear a difference.” Chrissy grins. “It’s cool that she’s doing a story on us, though. So, like, what’s her thing? Does she play any sports or…?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so? She works at the public library,” Waverly says.

“How do you know that?”

Waverly sighs. “I was there. Doing some… research.”

“Research. Really. On what?” Chrissy asks, glancing over, her eyebrows raised. “Waves?”

“Nothing,” Waverly mumbles, really wishing she hadn’t brought it up, but also longing to confide in Chrissy. It would be so much easier if she could talk to her about this.

“Waverly.” Chrissy gives her a stern look, her eyes darting between the road and Waverly’s face. “I’m your best friend. Tell me.”

But Waverly sets her jaw and refuses to look at her. She stares straight ahead out of the rain-spotted windshield, remembering the last time she attempted to broach the subject. Better to keep it to herself.

Chrissy sighs. “Waves…” she says reprovingly.

“What?”

They fall silent.

“I miss Wynonna,” Waverly says quietly. It's a change of subject, but it's also true, and it's on her mind. “I feel so shitty.”

Chrissy presses her lips together in sympathy. “I know,” she says softly. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Not unless you can fly to Greece and bring her back.”

“Have you talked to Champ about this at all? You know, confided in him?”

Waverly scoffs. “Well, I tried, and he blabbed everything to Rachel, of all people. I got so pissed the other night, I made him take me home.” She feels angry all over again, just thinking about how dismissive he’d been.

“After the game?”

“Yeah. He’s not exactly understanding when it comes to Wynonna. I mean, I get that he’s ‘protective’ of me or whatever…”

“Yeah… maybe.” Chrissy frowns.

“What?”

“What, what?”

“You’re thinking something and not saying it,” Waverly says, irritated. “Go on. Say it.”

Chrissy hesitates. “I just worry that Champ’s… it’s just that you’re _so_ sweet, Waves, and sometimes I worry that you let Champ kind of… walk all over you.” It seems to take quite an effort to say this. Chrissy ducks her head a bit as she drives, looking nervously at Waverly from the corner of her eye.

“No, I don’t,” Waverly says automatically, although she knows, in her heart, that Chrissy is right. She probably does let Champ get away with too much.

By the time they pull in the parking lot it's stopped raining, but dark plumes of clouds hover in the near distance, veiling the sun.

“Well,” Waverly says. “We’ll see how long we make it before it downpours.”

 

* * *

 

Flannels. Long-sleeve race tees. Sweaters. No, no, no.

Nicole had spent far too long deciding what to wear to the cheerleading practice, trying on and then discarding multiple outfits before finally setting on her maroon Sunnydale High sweatshirt--Buffy was always in style, as far as she was concerned--along with a pair of skinny jeans and high tops.

As she's about to head out the door, her mom calls out from the study, where she is, as usual, working.

“Nicole? Where are you going?”

Nicole sighs quietly and redirects, stopping in the doorway of the study, where she stands with her hands on her backpack straps. Her mom is in her ancient armchair, a stack of textbooks on the small round table at her elbow, another book open on one of the chair arms, a laptop on her thighs.

“I’m going to the cheerleading practice, remember? And then interviewing a couple of them afterward.”

Her mom removes her reading glasses. “Have you finished your other homework?”

“Mom, this is homework. And it’s Saturday morning.”

“Is your semester off to a good start? How are your grades?” _Now_ she wants to talk about this?

“Fine.”

“How are your college apps going?”

“Fine,” Nicole repeats, fidgeting a little. She’s started a few applications. But the only school she's truly interested in is the police academy in the big city. The one time she brought it up with her parents, they looked at her amusedly and simply dismissed the idea as absurd, a non-option.

“Maybe spend a little more time on your apps and less time reading your comic books.”

“ _Okay,”_ Nicole says.

Her mom looks at her, the corners of her mouth almost turning up into a smile. “I noticed you read _Fun Home_ , though,” she says. “That’s an interesting one.”

Nicole’s body floods with nerves. “Mom. Did you go through my backpack?”

“No,” her mom says calmly. “It was on your nightstand.”

 _Shit._ Nicole wants to kick herself.

“Well, all right,” her mom says, slipping her glasses on. “Have fun.”

“Bye.” Nicole hurries out of the house, taking a deep breath of relief at having avoided a tense conversation--and more probing questions.

She arrives at the field early and is seated on the third row of the bleachers, umbrella and backpack on the bench beside her, trying to read _MoonStruck_ when she hears voices. Several girls round the corner of the bleachers, chatting and shuffling onto the field as though sleepy. (Could they really be tired at eleven a.m.? Nicole wonders.)

She spots Waverly and lifts a hand in greeting.

Waverly returns the wave with a bright smile on her face, and Nicole feels her cheeks flush as everyone turned to look at her. She stands up, but Waverly is already climbing the bleachers. She takes a seat in front of Nicole as the other girls drop their bags on the bottom row.

“Hi!” she says brightly. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” Nicole says, smiling, heart pounding away. “Thanks for letting me sit in on your practice.”

“Of course!” Waverly says.

“Thanks for writing a story on us,” Steph calls. She's sitting sideways on the bottom bench, tying her tennis shoes. “Pretty cool of you.”

“Oh,” Nicole says, waving a hand dismissively.

“That’s Steph,” Waverly says. “She’s head cheerleader. And that’s my friend Chrissy Nedley, and that’s Mel, and Rachel…” She points at everyone present, rattling off their names so quickly that Nicole doesn't even try to commit the ones she doesn't know to memory. She waves a little bit at the group.

“So, how do you want to do this?” Waverly asks, turning back to her, her face open and expectant.

“Um,” Nicole says. “Well, I guess I could, like, watch your practice and then maybe ask you some questions?” Her heart is beating fast, and she feels like she's stumbling over her words.

“How about during our break?” Waverly asks. “The questions, I mean. You could talk to several of us.”

“That sounds good.” Nicole nods quickly.

“If we even make it to break,” Chrissy says, looking up at the sky. “Not looking too good.”

“Positive thoughts, Nedley,” Steph orders. “Let’s go, girls! Warm-ups!”

Waverly rises, one foot on the bleacher in front of her. “Are you okay here? Do you need anything?” she asks Nicole.

“I’m good.” Nicole smiles gratefully at her. “Thanks.”

“‘Kay,” Waverly says softly, returning the smile. She hurries onto the field, her ponytail swishing.

Nicole takes a few notes--observations of Steph as head cheerleader, the warm-ups and drills they do--but soon the wind picks up and cools off, and she shivers as the sheet of notebook paper flaps against her hand in the breeze. After the first drop of water splats onto her paper, she slips the notebook into her backpack. It begins to rain in earnest.

Unfurling her umbrella, she makes her way down as the girls hurry off the field, grabbing bags and sweatpants and running around the back of the bleachers.

“Come on!” Waverly runs straight for Nicole, pressing close to share her umbrella, and Nicole immediately holds it out to shield her from the drops, suddenly not caring if she herself gets soaked. Waverly grins up at her, slips her arm through Nicole’s and tugs. “We can stand under the announcer’s booth!”

Nicole’s heart thumps, a sudden adrenaline rush warming her body at the contact. Waverly Earp is touching her. She is touching _her._  Nicole! She tries to pretend it's no big thing, as if girls casually linked arms with her all the time. She wishes she was the type of girl who did things like that. She and Waverly jog around the bleachers and join the group under the elevated booth.

Waverly lets go as soon as they're out of the rain, and Nicole shakes the drops off her umbrella. “This is perfect,” Waverly says. “You can ask us all your questions now.”

“Oh,” Nicole says, “Right. Hang on.” She fumbles in her bag, pulling out her notebook and pen, and then her phone. “Okay if I record?”

She feels awkward and out of place, but the girls are nice enough. They're eager to talk about what it's like to be on the squad. Nicole runs through her list of questions, feeling slightly overwhelmed as different girls pipe up and interject from all around her, occasionally laughing with one another and tossing around an inside joke or two, which, of course, go over her head.

“All right,” Steph says loudly as Nicole is wrapping it up. “I’m calling it. Go home, everyone.” It's pouring steadily, the dusty track turning into mud around them, rain thrumming loudly on the metal bleachers.

“You kinda got a bunch of interviews in all at once, huh?” Waverly says as Nicole grabs her umbrella. “If you don’t need me anymore, that’s cool.”

“Oh, no! I mean, I-I’d still like to talk to you,” Nicole says quickly. “If you have time, I mean. Otherwise I can make do.” She holds up her phone, indicating the recorded conversation, but silently praying that Waverly still wants to talk to her.

“I have time,” Waverly assures her. “Did you, uh, drive here?” She glances around as if looking for Nicole’s car.

“Yeah, I drove.”

“Do you wanna maybe go somewhere else to talk?” Waverly asks.

“Sure,” Nicole says, her voice too high.

Waverly turns to Chrissy, who's lingering nearby, waiting for her. “Hey, Chris, I’m gonna go with Nicole.”

“Oh,” Chrissy says, surprised. “Okay. I’ll see you later then?”

“Mmhm.” Waverly smiles and turns to Nicole, who held out her umbrella.

“Ready?” Nicole asks.

Waverly links arms with her in response, which is precisely what Nicole had been hoping for and is no less thrilling the second time around. They run as best they can through the rain, Nicole grinning, Waverly squealing as they make their way to Nicole’s car. By the time they get there, their legs and feet (and the entire left side of Nicole’s body) are wet.

She opens the passenger door, holding the umbrella over Waverly’s head until she's all the way in before climbing into the driver’s side. She tosses her bag and umbrella into the back seat and turns the car on, cranking the heat.

“So, where to?” she asks Waverly, rubbing her hands together to warm her cold fingers.

“My place?” Waverly asks, and Nicole agrees.

She feels both self-conscious and elated the entire way to Waverly’s, as though she's suddenly forgotten how to drive and has to do everything in an exaggeratedly careful way. The dust on her dashboard seems glaringly obvious; she regrets having left a pair of running shoes in the backseat, and her eye keeps getting drawn to the paper straw wrappers balled up in the door of her car. Despite all this, her chest is filled with a balloon of happiness.

Waverly doesn't seem to notice the dust or mess--or if she does, she doesn't seem to mind. She cheerfully navigates as Nicole drives, commenting on the weather and asking Nicole about other stories she’s done for the school paper.

As Nicole pulls up in front of the house, Waverly explains, “I live with my aunt Gus and uncle Curtis. But they won’t bother us. We can go up to my room.”

Nicole nearly perishes at the prospect.

*****

The McCreadys’ house is large and cozy; it smells like laundry detergent and looks sort of like a log cabin inside, which Nicole immediately likes. They shed their wet shoes in the front hall and pad into the kitchen, where Waverly fills a hot water kettle as the rain lashes at the windows.

“You like tea?” she asks Nicole, turning the burner on.

Nicole suddenly wishes she drank more tea. “Sure,” she says. “Thanks.”

Waverly points at a stack of of tea boxes and a few tins lined up against the backsplash. “Bag or looseleaf?”

“Um,” Nicole says. “Bag is fine?”

“Black, green, or herbal?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” This seems to be the easiest answer.

“Green it is, then.” Waverly pulls two tea bags from a box. Nicole leans self-consciously against the counter, smiling a little as Waverly rises on her tiptoes to grab two mugs from a cupboard. She's so cute.

When the front door slams, Waverly starts, accidentally slamming the cupboard closed and turning an alarmed face toward an angry voice coming from the front hall.

“--so sick of her bullshit, Curtis! She leaves us to deal with her mistakes--”

Another voice murmurs in response, and there are quick footsteps in the hallway. Nicole keeps her eyes on Waverly, who stands frozen, her mouth slightly open. Suddenly remembering Nicole, she turns around and meets her gaze, her eyes widening.

“Aunt Gus?” she calls, and the voices stop as a woman and man enter the kitchen.

“Waverly,” the man says when he sees her.

“What’s going on?” Waverly asks, her hand still gripping a mug handle.

The woman, presumably Gus, huffs out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. “Your sister,” she says tightly, “is a suspect in some _breaking and entering_ case.”

“What?” Waverly says softly.

“More of her bullshit,” Gus says. “I’m telling you, I am so done--”

“Gus,” Curtis says placatingly, placing a large hand softly on her shoulder. “Waverly, who’s your friend?”

Everyone turns to look at Nicole. Her face immediately flushes with embarrassment at being “caught” overhearing what was clearly a personal and emotionally charged conversation. She opens her mouth uncertainly.

“This is Nicole,” Waverly jumps in. “We were just going upstairs. Just--” The kettle begins to whistle and her hands flutter nervously, touching the handle and then turning the gas off. Nicole sees that she is trembling.

“Let me,” she says softly, walking over and reaching for the kettle. She pours the steaming water into their mugs while Gus and Curtis pull out chairs at the table, Curtis continuing to murmur calming words to Gus. Nicole picks up both mugs and turns to Waverly.

“We’ll just be…” Waverly mutters, motioning for Nicole to follow her upstairs.

*****

Waverly’s room looks, for the most part, exactly as Nicole imagined it would (not that she’s spent _too_ much time imagining it). Gauzy curtains on the windows, an unmade bed piled high with blankets, layers of overlapping photos pinned to a cork board. There are cheerleading trophies, a couple of battered stuffed animals, a small desk against the wall and at least two empty mugs and a water glass on various surfaces.

Nicole stands in the center of the room, holding both mugs and gazing around as Waverly closes the door and opens the blinds to let in what little light there is.

“I’m so sorry about Gus,” she says, hastily straightening and smoothing the blankets on her bed. “Oh!” Noticing the mugs, she hurriedly clears some space on her dresser top, pushing aside bottles of lotion and perfume. “You can set those here.”

Nicole sets the mugs down. Waverly seems nervous, flustered, as she opens a dresser drawer and pulls out two pairs of sweatpants. “Want some dry pants?” she asks Nicole. “Mine are damp. I’m freezing.”

“Oh, um.” Nicole eyes the sweatpants. They're tiny.

“They might be a little short on you,” Waverly admits.

Nicole grins. “Maybe a little.” Then she shivers. Her jeans are cold and clammy against her legs.

Waverly smiles. “Just try them. It’s better than wet jeans.”

Nicole takes the pants and looks around for a place to change. Waverly walks to the other side of the bed and strips her wet pants; she seems entirely unself-conscious. Nicole turns away quickly, draping the sweatpants over the back of the desk chair and unzipping her jeans. She feels awkward and wants to change quickly while Waverly is distracted.

The pants are indeed short. And tight around the waist. Nicole unties the drawstring and pulls the elastic cuffs up so that they gather under her knee.

“Ah, see? That’s not so bad,” Waverly says, nodding at Nicole’s sweatpants. Nicole just smiles at her.

Waverly picks up the tea mugs, hands one carefully to Nicole, and then sits cross-legged on her bed, motioning for Nicole to join her. Nicole elects to settle on the edge. She doesn't trust herself to climb fully onto the bed (Waverly’s bed!) with a mug of hot tea in her current state.

“Sorry about… downstairs,” Waverly says again, staring down into the mug held in her lap. She lifts her eyes to look at Nicole without raising her head. “My sister’s… She kind of struggles sometimes. My aunt gets frustrated.”

Nicole exhales, watching Waverly. She wants to say something comforting. She wants to give her a hug. As she's trying to think of something to say that won't sound empty, Waverly continues.

“My sister just left for Europe,” she says, scratching at the rim of her mug with a fingernail.

“Will she be gone long?” Nicole asks quietly.

“I think so,” Waverly answers. “She said--she said she felt like being in Purgatory was killing her.”

Such a statement brings a handful of questions to Nicole’s mind--she's curious about Wynonna and the Earp sisters’ past--but she doesn't want to seem nosy. And Waverly sounds so sad that Nicole feels an almost unbearable urge to reach toward her.

And then she does.

Before she knows it, her fingers are inches from Waverly and it's too late to go back. She places her hand gently on Waverly’s forearm and takes a breath as if to say something, then changes her mind.

Waverly looks up at her, eyes soft. To Nicole’s utter surprise, Waverly places her own hand over Nicole’s and squeezes her fingers. Nicole has a wild urge to giggle and cry at the same time, but instead she whispers, “I’m sorry,” her voice shaky, and Waverly smiles sadly at her.

Then Waverly lets go, and Nicole removes her hand, and the moment is over.

“Do you have siblings?” Waverly asks.

“No,” Nicole says. She takes a sip of her tea. “It’s just me and my mom and dad.”

“What do your parents do?”

“They’re academics. My mom’s a professor in the city. Dad works at the community college a couple towns over. I think their dream in life is for me to have as many degrees as they do,” Nicole says.

“Is that what you want?"

“I don’t think so."

“What do you want?”

“Well… I kinda want to go to the police academy in the city,” Nicole says hesitantly. “I like the idea of helping people, I guess. Keeping people safe. But who knows if I’d even get in.”

“What? Of course you would!” Waverly says immediately, which makes Nicole smile.

“You think?” she asks.

“Absolutely,” Waverly says confidently.

“You don’t even know me,” Nicole teases, but she's pleased that she has Waverly’s vote of confidence.

“Well, what does one need to apply to the police academy?” Waverly asks.

“Umm… high school diploma, be healthy, be physically fit, not be a criminal,” Nicole says, mentally going through the list of requirements she’s pored over many times.

“Well, you’ll have your diploma,” Waverly says, holding her thumb out. “Are you healthy?”

“Um… yep.”

She puts a second finger out, keeping track. “Are you physically fit?”

Nicole blushes. “I think so. I mean, I run a lot and lift weights.”

“Ooh,” Waverly says. “Can I feel?” She reaches out as if to squeeze Nicole’s bicep, but Nicole dodges her hand, laughing.

“All right, all right,” Waverly relents, but her index finger darts out and pokes Nicole’s thigh.

“Hey!”

They both laugh, and Waverly nods. “Yep. That’s a muscle,” she says approvingly. “And I assume you’re not a criminal.”

“Not a criminal,” Nicole confirms.

“Well, then you’re golden.” Waverly grins at her, and Nicole feels, all of a sudden, as if she can relax. She tucks one foot beneath herself and turns toward Waverly.

“What do you want to do after high school?” she asks.

Waverly groans a little as she props some pillows up behind her back. “I don’t know,” she says, leaning back against the headboard. “I’m just trying to get through this year.”

Nicole wants to ask what that means. She has so many questions. What is Waverly interested in? What does she do in her free time? Does she want to leave after high school? Is she happy?

Instead she says lamely, “You’ll figure it out.”

“I always do,” Waverly replies. Her head rolls against the pillows. “Hey!” she says, looking at the window. “Sun’s out. Want to go for a walk?”

 

* * *

 

Nicole drives them to a trailhead on the edge of the woods, just down the road from the McCreadys’. “I run past here all the time, actually,” she says as they get out of the car. “On the trails."

“You do? By yourself?” The thought of Nicole alone, vulnerable in these woods makes Waverly nervous. She wonders if she should say something.

“Yeah, I like the woods. They’re quiet. It’s peaceful.”

They're alone. The trees and ground are damp; the smell of rain-soaked wood and soil is wonderful. Waverly takes a deep breath as they stroll deeper into the woods, walking silently, listening to the rain dripping from the tree boughs. The non-evergreen trees are blazing with fall color.

She wants to tell Nicole that she likes to be alone, too. That she's always looking for peace. But maybe Nicole won't believe that about her--the girl who's always with a group of friends. “God, it’s beautiful,” she says quietly. She feels Nicole looking at her out of the corner of her eye and turns to smile gently at her. “Do you ever get scared out here alone?”

Nicole shakes her head and puts her hands in the pockets of her (well, Waverly’s) sweatpants. They do look a bit tight on her, Waverly notices. “Nah.”

“You’re braver than I am.” Waverly waits a minute and then says, “You know, I used to live on the other side of these woods.”

“You did?” Nicole looks at her curiously.

“Yeah. Way on the other side.” She throws her hand out to indicate the distance.

“With your aunt and uncle?” Nicole asks.

“No,” Waverly says. She's not sure why she's talking about this. She never brings up her pre-Gus and -Curtis days, although she thinks about them all the time. She guesses it's something about being in the woods. But it's also something about Nicole. She doesn't know why, but she wants to tell her things. “With my family--my parents. And my sisters.”

Nicole is quiet for a moment. Then, “You have two sisters?” 

Waverly nods. “Wynonna and Willa.”

“Is Wynonna the one in Europe?”

Waverly nods again. “Yeah. Willa’s… gone.”

Nicole looks at her with a question in her eyes. Waverly isn't sure what to say. She accepted long ago that Willa is probably dead. But what if Nicole wants to know how she died?

But Nicole doesn't ask. She just reaches out a hand and rubs it softly against the back of Waverly’s shoulder. Then she shoves it back in her pocket and looks down shyly.

Waverly moves a little closer to Nicole.

“My mom left us when I was six.” She kicks at a twig on the trail. “I haven’t seen her since. And… you probably know what happened to my dad.”

“Yeah,” Nicole says quietly. “I’m sorry, Waverly.”

“It’s okay,” Waverly says. She takes a deep breath and lets it out. It feels good to get everything out in the open. Well, maybe not everything… but the basics, at least.

“You don’t have to be okay,” Nicole says. “I mean, if you are, that’s great. But if you’re not, you don’t have to pretend that everything’s okay. For my sake, I mean.”

Waverly smiles gently. “I know.”

“Yeah?” Nicole asks.

Waverly nods. “Yeah.”

They walk quietly, and it's comfortable.

“I’m not doing a very good job at this interview,” Nicole says, and they both laugh.

“Sorry,” Waverly says. “I keep bringing down the mood, don’t I?”

“No!” Nicole says quickly. “Waverly… no. We have all the time in the world to talk cheerleading.”

“Sometimes I feel like I live and breathe cheerleading. It’s sort of nice to just… talk.”

They smile at each other.

*****

Later, Waverly walks Nicole out to her car. She’s placed Nicole’s folded jeans in a plastic bag and insisted that she wear her sweatpants home.

They had gotten around to talking cheerleading eventually, but something is nagging at Waverly.

“Nicole?” They stand facing each other by the car. Nicole looks at her, waiting, her brown eyes resting gently on Waverly’s. “This is going to sound weird.”

Nicole waits patiently, a question on her face.

“I wish you wouldn’t run in the woods alone,” Waverly says, grimacing.

Nicole laughs softly. “Why not?"

“I just don’t think they’re safe. I… I just have a bad feeling about them.” Waverly feels silly, as though she's overreacting. She was afraid Nicole would scoff.

Nicole thinks for a second. “Would it make you feel better if I always took my phone with me?”

Waverly is relieved to see she isn’t laughing at her. “Yes,” she says, “but it just makes me really nervous.” She rubs one arm awkwardly as she speaks, feeling childish. “I just wish you wouldn’t.” 

Nicole seems to consider her for a moment, her eyebrows drawn together. “Okay,” she says finally. “I won’t run alone there anymore.”

Waverly feels herself visibly relax, as if she’s been tied up with a string and it's been cut loose. “Thanks,” she mumbles at her feet, embarrassed.

“Hey,” Nicole says. Waverly looks up. “Thanks for letting me interview you. And for the tea. And the pants.” She laughs softly.

Waverly smiles. “Of course. It was--nice.”

“Yeah, it was.”

They stand there, and Waverly wonders for a second if she should hug Nicole. It seems like the time for a hug. She hesitates. Then she quickly slips her arms around Nicole, pinning her arms to her sides, and squeezes.

When she backs up, Nicole looks slightly dazed, her eyes wide.

“See you around,” Waverly says.

“Yeah.” Nicole gets into the car and starts it as Waverly stands there, one arm crossed over her stomach. Suddenly, Waverly takes a step forward and knocks on the window, motioning for Nicole to roll it down.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, I just--are you going to the homecoming dance?” Waverly asks.

Nicole’s face drains of color and her mouth opens. “Uh--I--”

“It's just, my friend Rachel is having a bonfire after the dance,” Waverly says.

“Oh.” Nicole’s face is now blotchy with red.

“Do you want to come?” Waverly asks hopefully.

“Um… to the bonfire?”

“You totally don’t have to if it’s not your thing,” she says hastily. “I just thought, maybe--”

“I’d love to."

Waverly smiles widely. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nicole says. “You sure your friend won’t mind?”

“Definitely not,” Waverly says, waving a hand. “There’ll be a lot of people there.”

“Okay. Cool,” Nicole says, a smile creeping across her face. Her teeth are so white.

“Cool,” Waverly repeats. She can't stop grinning. “I’ll text you the deets.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Nicole says. She gives Waverly a small wave. “Talk to you soon.”

“Bye, Nicole."

Once Nicole has driven off, Waverly heads inside, feeling as if a balloon is tied to her heart. Nicole is cool.

She is really cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comic referenced:
> 
> MoonStruck, Vol. 1. Written by Grace Ellis. Art by Shae Beagle and Kate Leth. Image Comics.


	5. In which homecoming takes place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a minute since I updated this! I've decided to split what I thought would be the next chapter into two chapters, as it was getting too long.
> 
> I was fortunate enough to be able to attend ClexaCon for the first time last weekend. I met Kat and Dom, which was a delight. They're both very kind.
> 
> TeaPet

The texting begins slowly.

Nicole will  _not_ be the first one to reach out, she tells herself after leaving the McCreadys’ on Saturday. She will not be that person, the one with the crush, the transparent one.

So she waits (semi)patiently with thoughts of Waverly rattling around inside her head like a catchy song, mentally replaying their conversations as she goes about her Sunday, conjuring the image of Waverly's brilliant smile over and over in her mind’s eye.

A text arrives during dinner that evening. It's Waverly, confirming the invitation to her friend Rachel’s bonfire, a thing to which Nicole is already beginning to regret having committed herself.

 _You’re not going to the dance?_ Waverly asks.

 _Not planning on it, no,_ Nicole responds. _Not really my thing._

 _I get that_ , Waverly responds simply. _Tbh I’m not super looking forward to it._

 _No? Why not?_ Nicole asks. She’d imagined that Waverly Earp and her group were the type who went all out for school dances. They’d rent a limo, probably, and wear matching outfits with their dates. She imagines Waverly, a pastel corsage strapped around her wrist, attaching a delicate boutonniere to Champ’s jacket with a long stick pin, and she feels a stab of jealousy.

The ellipsis appears on Nicole’s screen as Waverly types, but soon it vanishes. Nicole waits all night, but no answer comes, no explanation of why Waverly isn’t excited about the dance. Nicole is embarrassed, convinced she’s stepped over some invisible line and offended Waverly somehow. She considers following up, apologizing or changing the subject, but finally decides to leave it.

So when Waverly sends her a selfie the next day--she's making a face at the camera, hair in a ponytail, dressed in a dingy white cutoff--Nicole feels as though a weight has been lifted from her chest. _Practice isn’t as fun when there’s no paparazzi in the bleachers,_ is the accompanying text. It is pure poetry to Nicole’s ears. The resulting high lasts a solid forty-eight hours. She finds herself opening the photo throughout her day and studying it in the dark of her room before falling asleep each night.

She has a ridiculous urge to text Waverly about the boring minutiae of her day. She stops herself, although she would happily listen to every detail of Waverly’s. She can't believe how quickly she’s become enchanted by this girl. She’s had crushes in the past, sure. Teachers, when she was little, babysitters, a couple of classmates. But no one has ever taken over her thoughts so quickly, and so completely.

* * *

 

“Earth to Nicole!”

Jeremy is standing on the other side of the card table, a stringy mass of pumpkin guts and white seeds cupped in his palm. He, Nicole, and Robin are in the sun room at the back of the Chetris’ house. The table is layered with newspaper and strewn with bits of pumpkin rind and pulp. Robin is scraping at the inside of his pumpkin with a metal spoon.

“What?” Nicole has gutted her pumpkin and is ready, ballpoint pen in hand, to draw her design--just as soon as she's finished texting Waverly. Carving pumpkins is eventful and interesting enough to be text-worthy, she’s convinced herself.

“I asked what your design was,” Jeremy says, dropping his handful of pulp into the large bowl in the center of the table.

Nicole says, “You’ll see,” and grins down at her phone as Waverly begins regaling her with a story from last Halloween. (She’d stepped onto the front porch and been startled to discover a squirrel nestled inside her jack-o-lantern, nibbling away.)

“Who are you texting?” Jeremy asks suspiciously.

“Nunya.”

“Come on. You’ve been texting nonstop all week. You never text,” Jeremy says pointedly.

Robin looks up at her, lips curved into a small smile, and Nicole feels her face flush. Maybe he suspects? She’d gotten Waverly’s number from him, after all.  “Fine,” she says, sighing. “It’s Waverly Earp, if you must know.”

“Waverly Earp? The cheerleader?” Jeremy asks, looking confused. “Why are you texting her?”

“I’m doing a story on the cheerleaders. I went to her house and interviewed her a couple days ago,” Nicole explains. “Since then we’ve just been… texting.” She shrugs exaggeratedly.

Much to Nicole’s dismay, Jeremy’s eyes widen. “Whaaat?” he exclaims, slimy hands flailing. “And when exactly were you going to tell me this?”

“Dude, calm down,” Nicole says, definitely _not_ wanting Jeremy to freak out about this in front of Robin. “There’s nothing to tell. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is totally a big deal!” Jeremy is practically shouting.

Robin looks between the two of them. “Um, why is it a big deal?”

Jeremy glances at him, mouth open. “Uhhhh…” he trails off. “Um, because, new friends. New friends are cool.”

“Uh _huh.”_ Robin nods slowly, looking skeptical but amused. “Well,” he says to Nicole, “Waverly is a total sweetheart.”

“She was fun to interview,” Nicole agrees.

“She’s just, like, one of the most thoughtful people, and super interesting to talk to,” Robin says. “Like, she’s had all these crazy experiences in her life, and they’ve clearly affected her, but she never complains about it at all.”

Nicole is intrigued. She wants to hear more--wants to know everything about Waverly--but she also doesn't feel comfortable talking about her past behind her back. Robin hasn’t divulged any secrets, but she decides to change the subject anyway, just to be safe. “How long have you two been friends?” she asks, carefully starting to draw her design on her pumpkin.

“Since freshman year,” Robin says. “Actually, wanna hear something ironic? It’s kind of a story.”

Jeremy and Nicole nod, and he continues. “So, freshman year was pretty much hell for me. I mean, kids have been giving me shit for being gay my whole life, even before I knew what being gay meant.”

Nicole hums in sympathy, although this news does not come as a surprise. She’s grown up in Purgatory, after all, and has witnessed enough bullying among the guys in her class. Not having come out herself, she hasn't gotten grief from classmates. She feels a little bit guilty about this.

Jeremy moves to place a comforting hand on Robin’s arm but stops when he remembers his fingers are still gooey. Robin gives him a grateful smile.

“But anyway,” he continues, “freshman year, things actually got physical. Like, guys would shove me into lockers in the locker room, or steal my clothes or whatever, and it was awful.

“But the ironic thing is, Champ Hardy was, like, one of the major instigators in all this. You know Champ, right?” He looks at Nicole.

She makes a face. “Waverly’s boyfriend? I know _of_ him.”

“Yup,” Robin says. “He’s a total dick. All of this happened before he and Waverly started dating, though. I’m not sure she even knows that Champ did all that shit.”

“You never told her?” Jeremy asks.

“No.” Robin shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess it just felt childish or something, to ‘tell’ on him.”

Great, Nicole thinks. Waverly's dating a homophobic shithead. “Waverly’s not like that, is she?” she asks Robin, even though she knows that he and Waverly are friendly.

He shakes his head vehemently. “Not at all. That’s the ironic part. She stood up for me once--we were at a school assembly, and these guys were giving me shit in the bleachers. She told them to knock it off. Of course, they listened to her. They like her. And now she’s dating one of them.”

This new knowledge of Champ doesn’t sit well with Nicole, and she can't believe that Waverly doesn't know about this side of his personality. Why is she with him?

“Anyway,” Robin says. “We kind of became friends after that. She went out of her way to talk to me, which kinda surprised me, you know? She’s genuinely a good person.”

Nicole likes Waverly even more now, knowing that she’d stood up for Robin. “I like her,” she says simply, and Robin smiles at her.

Nicole looks away, picking up a knife and punching it carefully through the shell of her pumpkin to begin carving.

“Isn’t she on homecoming court?” Jeremy asks.

“Yep,” Robin says. “Her and Champ, of course.”

“How did you know that?” Nicole asks Jeremy.

“Dude,” he replies, “how did you not know? It’s, like, common knowledge at school.”

Nicole rolls her eyes. “Shut up.” Hearing that Waverly is on homecoming court makes her stomach sink curiously, as though this further proof of her popularity made her even more out of reach, made a friendship between them even less likely.

Everyone likes Waverly. Everyone wants to be friends with Waverly. Maybe Waverly is only being nice to her because she's nice to everyone.

Maybe she doesn't really like Nicole.

“You going to homecoming, Nicole?” Robin asks her, as he saws laboriously at his pumpkin, looking like he's about to break a sweat.

“Nah.”

“No date,” Jeremy explains, and Nicole kicks him under the table.

“Ow!”

“Why don’t you come with us?” Robin asks, looking up. Jeremy freezes.

“Oh--no, that’s okay,” Nicole says quickly, glancing at Jeremy. Being a third wheel isn’t exactly her idea of a fun time.

But Robin keeps pushing. “Come on. It’ll be fun! We can judge everyone’s outfits together.”

“I don’t even have my own outfit,” Nicole demures, glancing at Jeremy, who is looking down at his pumpkin. He hasn’t said a word.

“Just think about it,” Robin says.

* * *

 

“That’s royal blue,” Waverly says. “My dress is turquoise, remember?"

Champ huffs and tosses the bowtie back onto the display table, throwing his hands up. “How the fuck am I supposed to know what turquoise looks like?”

They're in a department store, picking up last-minute accessories for the homecoming dance. Waverly pulls up a picture of her dress and holds her phone in front of Champ’s face. “This is turquoise,” she says impatiently.

She can still feel the burn of residual anger over Champ’s comments about Wynonna. It’s been a couple of weeks, but every time she sees Champ, her annoyance is rekindled. It doesn’t help that she's worried about her sister, constantly wondering where she is and what she's doing.

Her phone vibrates in her hand, and Champ squints at the screen. “Why is Nicole Haught texting you?” he asks, his voice flat. Then, seemingly uninterested in the answer, he picks up another bowtie by one end, letting it dangle from his fingers.

Ignoring him, Waverly opens the text and grins. Nicole has sent a picture of her finished jack-o-lantern.

 _A star?_ Waverly asks.

Nicole replies, _Not just any star._

Waverly pinches the screen, zooming in on the design. _A shooting star?_ she guesses.

 _Nope,_ comes the answer.

 _I give up,_ Waverly texts. _What is it?_

She glances up at Champ. He's standing in front of a mirror, holding a bowtie up to his neck. “That one’s good, Champ.” He glances at her, and she flashes him a thumbs up, nodding.

 _It’s the Captain Marvel logo!_ Nicole said. _Tell me you know Captain Marvel._

Waverly grins. _Is he the one who was in the army?_

Nicole sends a face palm emoji in reply. Waverly laughs to herself. She knows who Captain Marvel was (although admittedly, not well enough to recognize the logo), but it's so easy to give Nicole a hard time.

“Babe. Can we go?” Champ stands there expectantly, holding his bowtie.

“Okay,” Waverly says. She continues to text as they make their way to the nearest register.

“What the hell’s so funny?” Champ asks.

The newness of texting Nicole, of having her as maybe-a-new-friend, is exhilarating. Nicole seems to really _like_ her. She always responds to Waverly’s texts, and she’s even texted Waverly out of the blue a couple of times. For some reason, Waverly finds it hard to believe that Nicole actually _wants_ to talk to her, but apparently, she does.

Waverly doesn’t know Nicole very well yet, but she knows that Nicole is different. She's not like any of Waverly’s other friends. She's just herself, and Waverly likes that.

“Nothing,” she says.

 _I’m with Robin btw,_ Nicole texts.

 _Tell him I say hi!_ Waverly responds happily.

 _I will_ , Nicole promises.

*****

A few days earlier, a thought had crept its way into Waverly’s consciousness. It came to her unbidden as she was sitting in English class and slipped like a stone from her mind to her stomach where it sat heavily, making her queasy.

_Maybe I should break up with Champ._

The thought was intimidating and made her heart pound. Part of her suspected that, were she to try, Champ would simply laugh it off and refuse to accept it. There’d be nothing she could do about it, and they’d go on as if it had never happened.

It wasn’t as if Champ had done anything particularly horrible; nothing worse than he’d ever done, at least. She doesn't like the thought and doesn't want to have it, but still, it keeps coming back. It isn’t so much the idea of being single that bothers her. She thinks if she could just get through the actual process of doing the deed, of breaking his heart or making him angry or upsetting him in whatever way, she’ll be okay on the other side.

She considers talking to Chrissy about it, but she knows that saying it will make it seem too real, too inevitable. So she keeps it to herself.

At any rate, she can't break up with him before homecoming. Not when they're on court.

* * *

 

Nicole is spinning her combination lock before first period the day after the pumpkin carving when Jeremy appears at her side, still wearing his coat and hat and looking slightly sheepish. “Hey,” he greets her quietly.

“Hey, what’s up?” Nicole peels her coat off. “You okay?”

Jeremy shrugs. “Listen, about yesterday…”

“Oh,” Nicole interrupts. “Jeremy, I--”

“--totally welcome to come with us to the dance,” Jeremy continues, raising his voice a bit to talk over her. “You’re my best friend, dude. Of course I want you there.”

Nicole holds up a hand, shaking her head. “Jeremy… Thanks. That’s nice of you to say. But you know dances aren’t my thing. And I don’t even have a dress. And I don’t want to impose on you and Robin.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” Jeremy says glumly.

Nicole cocks her head at him. “Um, pretty sure I would be."

Jeremy sighs loudly, shifting his weight. “I thought Robin was asking me, like, as his date to the dance. But then he asked you to join us, and now I’m not so sure.” He lowers his voice. “What if he just wants to be friends?”

Nicole’s mouth turns down, and she feels an urge to pull Jeremy in for a hug, which is not something they usually did. “I think he was just trying to be nice to me,” she says, trying to sound reassuring. “Because he’s just a nice guy. And he seems to really like you. Have you guys talked about, you know, what you are?”

“You mean like, are we dating?”

“Yeah.”

Jeremy shrugs again. “Not really. I just felt like everything was going so well, and we’ve been spending so much time together, and he’s always very cuddly, which seemed to indicate we were moving in the direction of first base, you know?”

Nicole smiles and closes her locker, clicking her padlock shut. She turns to Jeremy. “You should tell him how you feel. To me, it’s obvious he feels the same way about you. And he _asked you to the dance,_ Chetri _._ He likes you!”

Jeremy twists his mouth to the side, considering her words. They head in the direction of his locker, which is around the corner. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll talk to him. But seriously, Nicole, you’re welcome to come with us to the dance.”

Nicole snort. “I know you’ll miss me, but I think I’ll pass on this one.”

*****

Nicole hasn’t told Jeremy about her post-homecoming dance plans. She's not sure how to explain to him why she's willing to attend a party full of people she doesn't really know. She's still trying to understand it herself.

She opens and closes her hands a few times as she runs, trying to get the blood flowing in her fingers. Night is falling early now; she’s exchanged her t-shirts and shorts for long sleeves and UA tights, and this week she’s added running gloves and a headband to cover her ears.

She thinks about Waverly as she runs, the brisk air making her lungs burn. She's winding her way back home through residential streets, having promised Waverly she’d avoid the trails, which at least means there are streetlights illuminating her path.

She does regret that she won't get to see Waverly in her homecoming dress. Or on the dance floor. Maybe if she went, Waverly would dance beside her… but no. _You don’t dance,_ Nicole reminds herself. Plus, Waverly would be with Champ, and the pain of seeing her standing on stage with her boyfriend at her side, or slow dancing while Nicole stood awkwardly against a wall, would be tortuous. She will not do that to herself.

And anyway, she'll see Waverly later that night, at the bonfire. The thought makes her stomach swoop.

When she turns up her driveway fifteen minutes later, she smells cigarette smoke before she notices her father. He takes shape as she approaches, a dark form on the concrete steps leading up to the front door.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, Nic. Good run?”

“Not too bad.” She's breathing hard. She almost comments on his smoking but bites her tongue. Her father is wearing drawstring pajama pants and an old band sweatshirt from his college days. His strawberry-blond hair is unkempt and getting long, and he's wearing socks but no shoes.

“Dad!” Nicole says, noticing. “Aren’t your feet freezing?”

Her dad stretches his legs out, wiggling his feet around as he puts his cigarette out on the step. “I like to feel the fresh air on my toes,” he says, grinning lopsidedly at her as he stands up. “Good for the circulation.”

“Pretty sure it’s the opposite, actually,” Nicole counters. They walk into the house together, making their way to the kitchen, where Nicole’s mother is sitting at the table, typing on her laptop, a cup of (probably cold) coffee at hand.

“Nicole, honey,” her mom says, glancing at them when they entered. “Did you tell your dad about the bonfire?”

“No,” Nicole says, drawing out the word in slight annoyance.

“A bonfire? This is new for you.” Her dad is moving mugs and plates from the drying rack to the cupboards. “Sounds like fun. When are we going?”

Nicole rolls her eyes and says, “A friend invited me. It’s Saturday night.” She knows they won't know who Waverly Earp is. They're out of the Purgatory loop--their friends are either academics in the Big City (in her mom’s case) or hippie music people in the Big City (in her dad’s case).

“Is this friend female, male, other, or both?” her dad asks, and Nicole groans.

“Her name is Waverly,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Now can I go shower?”

“Is Waverly just a friend?” her dad asks. “Or a… _friend?”_ He makes air quotes and exchanges a glance with his wife.

Nicole’s face is aflame with humiliation and nerves. Not knowing what else to do, she turns and walks out of the kitchen.

“Human sexuality is nothing to be ashamed of!” her father announces.

“Oh, my god, Dad!” she shouts, running up the stairs.

“We’re all animals!” her father bellows.

She slams her bedroom door.

* * *

 

Waverly cannot shake the thought.

_I should break up with Champ._

The thought is like an alive thing, wiggling around in her stomach. It's there even as the limo arrives to pick her up for the homecoming dance, and it persists as she stands in a line with her friends and their dates and smiles for the parents (and aunt and uncle) taking pictures. It even pops up when Champ passes her a shot glass brimming with Fireball in the back of the limo, as she hesitates for a second before taking it between her fingertips and tips it, burning, into her mouth.

*****

The gym is transformed. Music pumps from speakers; colorful lights dance on the walls and floor; metallic streamers sparkle. Waverly and her group ware fashionably late. The floor is already packed with bodies, sweaty high schoolers grinding and dancing in groups while a handful of chaperones hover on the edge of the basketball court, keeping an eye on things.

Waverly is in a dancing mood. After she and the other girls pull off their shoes and line them up against the wall, she grabs Chrissy’s hand and yanks her, barefoot and already dancing, onto the dark, crowded floor. She's small, which means that the shot of Fireball has put her right in that sweet spot: not tipsy, just feeling warm and good. She even wishes she had another one. She wants to drink and dance and forget everything for a few hours.

Champ and the rest of the guys remain on the edge of the floor, standing awkwardly near the punch bowl like a group of sulky vultures, hands in their pants pockets.

After a while, Waverly and Chrissy slip their shoes back on and head to the bathroom. Waverly feels exposed there, blinking in the white fluorescent light. The ringing of girls’ voices, the flushing toilets, the sharp strike of heels against the tile floor make her dizzy. She locks herself in a stall and peels her phone out of the top of her dress, where it was nestled sweatily against her breast.

Her heart jumps when she sees a text from Nicole.

_How’s the dance?_

_Pretty fun,_ Waverly replies. _I’m in the bathroom now. Needed a break. Don’t you wish you were here?_

She gathers her dress around her waist, pooling the skirt in her arms, and manages to sit on the toilet to pee. Nicole responds right away.

_Nah. No date, remember? [shrugging emoji]_

Waverly sends a sad-face emoji in response. She feels strangely jealous of Nicole; somehow her disinterest in school dances makes her seem so _cool._ She types, _Glad we get to hang out tonight though_ ,  just as she hears someone say her name from outside the stall, followed by Chrissy’s voice: “She’s in there.”

“Chrissy?” she calls. She flushes the toilet and drops her dress, smoothing it down as she exits the stall. “What’s up?”

Sonja and Steph are huddled next to Chrissy near the doorway. They watch as Waverly makes her way to the sinks.

“Hey, hon,” Sonja says, joining Waverly. “I was gonna step outside for a breather. Wanna come?”

Waverly looks at Sonja’s face in the mirror, and then past her at Chrissy and Steph watching over her shoulder. “Okay, what’s going on?” she asks. Sonja links arms with her, and Steph slips an arm around her waist. They walk out of the bathroom slowly.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Sonja says unconvincingly, and Waverly feels a wave of irritation pass through her. She makes a noise of impatience and pulls away from the girls. “You’re acting weird. What happened? Is it Champ?” She heads toward the gym.

It only takes her a few seconds to zero in on him, standing by the punch bowl, about six inches from Rachel. She's laughing at something he's saying, twirling a strand of hair in her fingers. His hand rests on her waist.

Waverly’s phone vibrates in her hand. It's Nicole. _Can’t wait to see you!_

For a split second, a laugh bubbles up in Waverly’s chest. She feels Chrissy at her shoulder, and she thrusts an open hand behind herself. Chrissy presses her fingers into her palm.

“Come on. I love this song.” Waverly pulls Chrissy back into the mass of bodies on the gym floor, weaving through until they're in the middle of the floor, surrounded, not seeing anyone but each other.

*****

Waverly and Champ are crowned homecoming king and queen.

Waverly stands on the stage by Champ’s side, a bouquet of flowers tucked in her arm. They'd put the lights up for the crowning, and everything feels too bright and suddenly less magical, just a gym again. It's simultaneously satisfying and meaningless to Waverly, to be homecoming queen, to be standing next to Champ. She feels tense, scrutinized, anxious, so she plasters on a wide smile.

The image of Nicole’s hand against her arm flashes through her mind. She lifts her arm and waves shyly at the crowd.

 


	6. In which Nicole and Waverly attend a bonfire

Nicole turns her car off and sits back, listening to the quiet pings of her engine cooling. She blows out a long, slow breath, trying to ease the slight tremor of nerves and the tension in her shoulders. She feels jittery, as if she’s drunk one too many cups of coffee.

She's pulled up on the shoulder of the road, behind a line of haphazardly parked cars. Rachel lives in a modest ranch house on the edge of town, her backyard opening up to a dark stretch of newly fallow wheat field.

_What the hell am I doing here?_

It occurs to Nicole that this is her first high school party, and truthfully, she feels rather fortunate to have avoided them thus far. She’s never had any particular desire to belong to the nebulous “popular” crowd that throws these sorts of parties. She doesn’t even care to drink; she worries that somehow, if she were to get drunk, all of her secrets would just come tumbling out like word vomit.

At the moment, she is seriously regretting having accepted Waverly’s invitation. Walking through the woods alone with Waverly is something she can handle. But Waverly in a large group of friends at a party? Jesus. She's in over her head. She groans quietly, and then jumps a bit when there's a tap at the passenger window.

Waverly.

Nicole grins and gets out of the car. Woodsmoke peppers the air, and shrieks and laughter float from behind the house. She shivers. Winter is definitely well on its way.

“You made it!” Waverly has been with friends all night, but the sight of Nicole is, strangely, such a relief to her that she feels almost breathless. She has a wild desire to fall into Nicole’s arms and thank her for coming, but Nicole looks a little bit nervous. So instead, Waverly rubs a hand up and down Nicole’s arm and smiles up at her. God, she's tall.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Waverly says.

“Yeah?” Nicole tucks her red hair behind her ear and smiles down at Waverly.

It's dark, but Nicole can see that Waverly has changed out of her homecoming dress into a low-cut top and skinny jeans. Her hair hangs in loose curls over her shoulders. She's holding a red plastic cup in one hand, the other gently squeezing Nicole’s arm.

“How was the dance?” Nicole asks.

“Eh.” Waverly waves a hand and gestures for Nicole to follow her through the yard. “It was just, you know.”

Nicole doesn't know, but she decides not to press.

When they round the corner into the backyard, she surveys the scene. People mill about, talking and laughing loudly, as though there aren’t neighbors who might be in bed at this hour. Nicole shoves her hands into her sweatshirt pouch as she and Waverly approach a ring of people around a firepit near the edge of the field. They're perched on hay bales and lawn chairs and each other’s laps, holding cans of beer and plastic cups and half-empty bags of jumbo marshmallows.

Fighting the urge to turn around and head back to the safety of her car, Nicole follows Waverly to an unoccupied seat and sits down beside her. The stiff hay pricks the backs of her thighs. She feels self-conscious in this group of people who are almost certainly wondering what the hell she's doing there.

An old-school boombox is perched on a plastic chair nearby. Top 40 hits blend with voices and smoke and float up into the black.

“Oh, hey.” A girl squats near Nicole’s left knee to fish around inside a cooler. She tosses her hair over one shoulder. “Nicole, right?”

“Yeah,” Nicole says, recognizing Waverly’s friend from cheerleading practice.

“Chrissy,” the girl reminds her, smiling. “You want a drink?”

“Oh, no, thanks,” Nicole says automatically, trying to sound casual.

“Wave?” Chrissy holds up a can, but Waverly shakes her head. “You here alone?” Chrissy asks Nicole. She closes the cooler and stands, popping the top on the can.

“Oh, uh--”

“I invited her,” Waverly says brightly, bumping Nicole’s shoulder genly with her own. “I like her.” Nicole tries not to smile too hard at this.

“Were you at the dance?” Chrissy asks.

Nicole shakes her head. “Nope.”

“Did Waverly tell you she was voted homecoming queen?”

Nicole looks at Waverly, her mouth open. “You did? You didn’t say!”

Waverly shrugs self-consciously, crossing one leg over the other. “It’s no big thing.”

Nicole feels a curious stab of something like envy. It's the same feeling she had when Jeremy mentioned that Waverly was on homecoming court. The feeling that Waverly is so… out of her league. So much more loved and admired than she, Nicole, will ever be. She wants to be one of Waverly’s favorite people.

Chrissy squats in front of Waverly, wobbling a little before steadying herself with an arm on Waverly’s knee. “You feeling okay?” she asks. She looks at Nicole and whispers, “Champ was flirting with Rachel at the dance.”

“Chrissy. Geez,” Waverly hisses. She uncrosses her legs and Chrissy lurches backward, catching herself with a hand on the ground.

“Waverly Earp! Nedley!” A girl is making her way around the circle towards them. She hasn’t yet bothered to release her hair from its fancy updo. A half-filled bottle of New Amsterdam sloshed in her hand.

“Do a shot with us.” She pours a generous splash of vodka into a plastic cup and hold it in front of Waverly insistently. Nicole sees a handful of girls around the circle clutching cups of their own.

Waverly takes the cup; she now has one in each hand. She looks at Nicole and makes a face, and Nicole raises her eyebrows questioningly.

“It’s been a night,” Waverly says quietly.

Nicole furrows her brow in response. She looks concerned, which both pleases Waverly and makes her feel a little bit bad.

Nicole, for her part, feels completely out of place. Her heart is beating too fast, and she wishes that she could grab Waverly’s hand, lead her away from the fire, take her home and tuck her safely into bed. She discreetly scoots closer, so that the side of her leg is touching Waverly’s.

Waverly smiles at her. Nicole’s thigh is warm and comfortable against her own. “Hey,” she says, leaning sideways so that their shoulders touch. “I’m okay. I haven’t had that much to drink.”

“You sure?” Nicole asks, her hand hovering between Waverly’s shoulder blades. “Maybe I should just take this one?” She holds a hand out toward the cup of vodka questioningly.

“Yeahhhhh!” A cry cuts through the chatter and the crackle of the fire. “Get on our level, Haught!”

Oh, boy. The girl who’d been passing out the shots is back, and making to sit directly on Nicole and Waverly. Nicole takes the cup from Waverly as they quickly scooch apart so that the girl can squeeze in between them.

“This is Sonja,” Waverly says, leaning forward to look at Nicole.

“Ah.” Nicole nods as Sonja drapes an arm around them both. The vodka bottle hangs from her fingers, against Nicole’s chest.

“You’re pretty cool, Haught,” Sonja says, her face uncomfortably close to Nicole’s.

“Um, thanks?” Nicole is amused by the cheerleaders’ apparent penchant for using last names. She leans back a little bit, but she already has one butt cheek off the hay bale; there isn’t really anywhere to go. She smiles, not wanting to seem rude. She really just wants to be sitting next to Waverly again.

“Also, you have the best name ever,” Sonja gushes. “I wish my last name was Haught.”

Nicole isn’t entirely sure whether or not Sonja is making fun of her. Her stomach flips when Waverly reaches a hand around Sonja to scratch gently at Nicole’s shoulder, as if to say, _Thanks for putting up with my drunk friend._

“You here to cheer up Waves?” Sonja asks, lowering her voice to a theatrical whisper.

 _Waves_. Nicole melts a little bit at the nickname. But, wait. Cheer up? “Um…”

Waverly starts pushing Sonja off the hay bale. “All right, girl, get outta here.” She rolls her eyes but smiles when Sonja kisses the side of her head.

As soon as she's gone, Waverly less-than-gracefully pulls her legs up onto the hay bale and sits cross-legged, facing Nicole. She smiles, her eyes crinkling up, and takes a good look at Nicole’s face. She is so pretty. Waverly can't help studying her features: her large, liquid-honey eyes, her big, white teeth.

Nicole tucks her hair behind her ear. Her heart rate speeds up under Waverly’s gaze. “Um, so, did something happen?” she asks, cocking her head. “At the dance?”

“Not really,” Waverly sighs, really not wanting to waste her time with Nicole talking about Champ. “Nothing I can’t handle, anyway. You gonna drink that, or do I have to?” She points at the cup in Nicole’s hand.

“Um.” Nicole glances into her cup. “I’ve never had vodka before.” She doesn't even know where she would get her hands on vodka. There is very rarely liquor in her home. Her mom only drinks red wine; her dad, beer.

“Really?” Waverly tries not to giggle at the wide-eyed look on Nicole’s face. “Do you not drink?”

“It’s not that I don’t, it’s just that--well, okay, I guess I don’t.” Nicole blushes, but Waverly laughs kindly and leans toward her, her fingers brushing Nicole’s thigh.

“I don’t either, usually, believe it or not,” she says, taking a swallow of her drink. (Nicole believes her.) “I’m a bit of a lightweight.”

“Literally,” Nicole says, before she can stop herself.

Waverly laughs and punches Nicole’s thigh lightly. “Hand it over, then.” She drains her cup and reaches for Nicole’s, motioning with her fingers.

“Hang on,” Nicole says, holding the cup out of Waverly’s reach. “Maybe I want it.”

Waverly raises her eyebrows.

Nicole weighs her options. She has to drive home, but not for a while yet, which means the effects of the drink will pass by the time she gets behind the wheel. But she isn't quite eighteen yet, and what if she happens to get caught? She can kiss the police academy good-bye.

“Let me just taste it,” she says finally. _No harm in that_ , she thinks. She brings the cup to her lips, feeling Waverly’s eyes on her, and tips it so that the liquid just reaches her mouth. She takes a small sip, grimacing as the vodka burns the back of her throat and warms her chest. “Gross.”

Waverly laughs. “I know.” She reaches for the cup, and Nicole reluctantly hands it over. Waverly drops it into her empty one.

“You’re not driving yourself home, are you?” Nicole asks. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound like--” She stops herself before bringing up Waverly’s mother. The mother she doesn't seem to have.

Waverly just shakes her head and throws back the shot, her face screwed up as she swallows. “No way,” she breathes. “Don’t even have a car.” Then she looks across the fire and groans.

Nicole follows her gaze and spots Champ swaggering towards the group. He takes a seat in a creaky lawn chair and leans back, his legs spread wide. He has that sort of unearned arrogance that Nicole hates, as if he thinks he can do no wrong.

“Come on.” With the shot of vodka warming her from the inside out, Waverly feels suddenly reckless and bright. She sets her cups on the ground and slips her fingers into Nicole’s hand. Nicole slides her palm against Waverly’s and squeezes as Waverly throws her legs over the back of the hay bale and pulls at her.

“Where are we going?” Nicole scrambles to stand without letting go of Waverly’s hand. Her skin is cool and smooth.

Waverly doesn’t answer, just cranks the volume on the boombox and heads toward a group of girls, half of whom are dancing near the bonfire. Nicole eyes them nervously. They seem drunk and happy, jumping and moving their bodies in a silly way, nothing too polished.

But dread fills Nicole’s chest, and she plants her feet. “No. Noooo way. Uh-uh, I don’t dance,” she protests as Waverly drags her forward, a smile on her face.

The girls happily make space for the two of them, and Waverly turns to face Nicole, taking both of her hands as she starts to dance. She smiles up at her, clearly wanting Nicole to join in the fun.

Nicole wants to die of embarrassment. But she also cannot believe that Waverly Earp is dancing with her. Sort of. How did this happen? How did she get here?

Waverly lets go of one of Nicole’s hands and spins herself away, then back toward Nicole, ending with a hand on Nicole’s hip. Away from the fire, the night air feels colder than ever, but Nicole’s entire body is ablaze. She grins embarrassedly and bites her lip as she watches Waverly dance in front of her.

Nicole’s awkwardness and stubborn refusal to dance only make the whole thing more fun for Waverly. She feels loose and free and--somehow--beautiful in this moment, so she moves her hips and runs her hands through her hair and grins playfully up at Nicole, who is half-watching her, half-staring off into the night with a red face and sparkling eyes and the widest, most adorable grin on her face.

When the song ends, Waverly laughs and stumbles forward into Nicole, wrapping her arms around her neck. She has a nice buzz going, which always makes her feel particularly affectionate. Truth be told, Waverly has been nursing a hollow ache ever since Nicole touched her arm in her bedroom all those days ago. She can't put her finger on what it is, exactly.

When Nicole places a hand on the back of Waverly’s head and strokes her hair, Waverly feels a rush of warmth spread upward from her belly. She squeezes Nicole more tightly.

“I have to pee,” she says in Nicole’s ear. “Come with me?”

“Okay.”

They walk hand in hand toward the house, Waverly weaving a bit. Nicole hasn’t danced at all, but she is breathless. The pressure of Waverly’s arms around her neck and the warmth of their chests pressed together have her absurdly aroused. She grips Waverly’s hand tightly as they enter the dark house through the back door.

“Where are Rachel’s parents?” Nicole whispers. The quiet of the kitchen is a relief.

“I dunno,” Waverly says. “Out of town, I think.”

The bathroom is occupied, and a strip of light from below the door dimly illuminates the hallway. Waverly slides down the wall and sits. Nicole hasn’t let go of her hand, and Waverly is glad for that. Their palms are getting sweaty, but she feels safe with Nicole’s fingers wrapped firmly around her own. She tugs at Nicole’s arm until she sits down beside her.

The scent of smoke has seeped into their clothing, but Waverly rests her head against Nicole’s shoulder and pulls Nicole’s hand into her lap, holding it between her own two hands.

Nicole’s heart beats faster. She wants so badly to pull Waverly onto her lap and kiss her. She can hardly stand it.

Waverly yawns. “I could go to sleep right here,” she says, sighing.

 _Fine with me_ , Nicole thinks. She'd like to rest her cheek against the top of Waverly’s head. She'd like to kiss her fingers, stroke Waverly’s hand with her thumb. But she feels frozen, as if the slightest movement will shatter this perfect moment, a moment that will surely happen only once in her lifetime. And it's happening right now. She needs to soak it all in and commit it to memory.

 _Perfect fit_ , Waverly thinks. She feels so comfortable, resting in the quiet of the house with her new friend. She wants to talk to Nicole, tell her things. What can she tell her? What's interesting? She wracks her brain.

“You’re the perfect height,” she says.

Nicole laughs. _“You are,_ ” she says, and Waverly smiles up at her.

“What are you, six feet?” Waverly asks, and Nicole laughs again.

“No. Only five nine.”

“Oh,” Waverly says. “Well. Taller than me.”

“Sure am,” Nicole replies.

They sit for a moment.

“Nicole?” Waverly says quietly. “I want to break up with Champ.”

A bolt of something (adrenaline? hope?) shoots through Nicole, and she immediately feels guilty that the news of Waverly’s impending breakup should make her happy. She thinks carefully before speaking. “Why do you want to break up with him?”

She feels Waverly shrug. She is quiet for so long that Nicole thinks she isn’t going to answer.

But then she says, “It doesn’t feel right anymore. Being with him.”

Nicole concentrates on keeping her voice calm. She doesn't want to sound eager. “Well,” she says slowly, “That’s as valid a reason as any to end a relationship.”

Waverly lifts her head to look at her. “Do you think?”

“Of course,” Nicole says. Then she repeats, a little more firmly, “Of course. Waverly… you deserve a relationship that feels right.”

Waverly just looks at her.

The bathroom door opens, and someone gasps. “Jesus! Wave. You scared me.”

Waverly tilts her head backward to look up at Chrissy Nedley. She pats Chrissy’s leg. “Hey, C.”

“Hey, hon,” Chrissy says, and Nicole feels a stab of envy over their closeness. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Waverly says. She holds her hands out, and Chrissy grabs them, pulling her easily up to a standing position. Nicole quickly scrambles to her own feet as Waverly enters the bathroom and closes the door behind herself, leaving her in the hallway with Chrissy.

“So…” Chrissy says, pulling out her hair tie. “You ever played Never Have I Ever?” She runs a hand through her hair and begins raking it back into a new ponytail.

“Hmm?” Nicole says, and then feels stupid. No, she’s most definitely never played that. She hadn’t been expecting Chrissy to ask her that.

“You know,” Chrissy says, “you hold up five fingers, and everyone says something they’ve never done, and if you’ve done it you put a finger down?”

“Right,” Nicole says. “Nope, never played it.” She is exceedingly uncool.

Chrissy tightens her ponytail and pulls her hair over her shoulder. “They’re playing out there and some of the girls wanted you to play.”

“Me?” Nicole says, completely surprised. And a little bit suspicious.

“’Cause they don’t know you,” Chrissy says, shrugging. “Just to get to know you.”

_More like, to make fun of me, Nicole suspects._

“You totally don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Chrissy says. “It’s kind of a stupid game.”

“Aren’t all the questions, like, about sex?” Nicole asks, whispering the last two words.

Chrissy laughs. “Pretty much,” she admits. “Hey, is she--” she jerks a thumb at the bathroom door and mouths, _okay?_

Nicole gives a half shrug and looks at Chrissy with an expression that says, _So-so, I guess_.

Chrissy takes a step towards her and whispers, “Champ was like, seriously flirting with our friend Rachel at the dance. The other girls didn’t want her to notice, but I kind of thought she should know. Isn’t it better that she knows?”

She looks at Nicole. It seems she is actually asking for Nicole’s opinion.

“Totally,” Nicole whispers.

“I think they thought she’d lose her shit or something, but…” Chrissy shakes her head. “She can handle herself. Even if she--”

Chrissy jumper away from Nicole when the bathroom door opens and Waverly emerges, wiping her wet hands on her jeans. "Much better," she says.

“Heeyy, I was just telling Nicole that we’ve got a game of Never Have I Ever going.” Chrissy loops an arm through Waverly’s and walks back toward the kitchen. Nicole follows behind, feeling out of place, but then Waverly looks back and throws a hand out. Nicole grabs it gratefully.

“You know I hate that game,” Waverly says. She looks at Nicole. “We don’t have to play.”

*****

  
Most of the girls at the party seem to have joined in on the game. The boys are spectating, and their presence is obviously adding a certain amount of thrill. The whole thing feels a little bit creepy and unfair to Nicole. Why should the boys be privy to their secrets? Maybe it would feel different, she thinks, if she was into boys. Or if these boys were her friends.

But probably not.

Waverly folds herself, cross-legged, onto a free section of hay, and Nicole sits on the blanket on the ground in front of her. The fire is burning low. Nicole pulls her knees up to her chest and her sweatshirt sleeves over her fists and leans back against the hay bale.

“Never have I ever…”

Nicole doesn't know the girl speaking. The game has started already, and everyone is holding up fingers. Most have four or five up. Two girls are holding up three.

“Butt stuff,” some dude coughs.

“Nah, she’s done that,” another guy says, and everyone laughs.

“Shut up, Sam,” the girl shouts, but she's grinning. “Okay! Okay. Never have I ever sixty-nined.”

Everyone gawks around the circle, looking to see who's put fingers down, shrieking and laughing, pointing fingers and shouting denials.

“All right, my turn,” Steph says, on Waverly’s left, once everyone quiets down. “Never have I ever had sex in a car.”

About half the girls put a finger down. Nicole tilts her head back to look at Waverly. Waverly rolls her eyes at Nicole and twists her lips into a smile. Nicole looks back at the group, wondering whether everyone was telling the truth.

She feels Waverly pull her hair back from her shoulders, and then her fingernails scratch lightly at the back of her neck as she runs her fingers gently through Nicole’s hair. Goosebumps erupt along Nicole’s scalp, and she feels another wave of arousal low in her belly.

“Is this okay?” Waverly says in her ear, and Nicole nods. “You have pretty hair,” Waverly says.

Nicole smiles in response and squeezes her knees more tightly, her eyes nearly closing in pleasure as Waverly continues to play with her hair.

“Your turn, babe,” Champ says suddenly. All eyes swivel from Champ to Waverly.

“I’m not playing,” Waverly says quickly. Her hands drop from Nicole’s hair to her shoulders.

Nicole glares at Champ when his gaze falls on her. His eyes seem to linger on Waverly’s hands, resting on Nicole’s shoulders.

“She’d be the first one out anyway,” Champ says, smiling arrogantly at the group. “Right, babe?”

“Champ,” Waverly hisses.

“Dude,” Nicole says angrily, before she can think twice. She falls silent when Champ, and nearly everyone around the circle, turns to stare at her. Her face blazes, but she holds his gaze.

Waverly squeezes her shoulders.

“What?” Champ says, seeming genuinely oblivious.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Nicole says.

Waverly’s heart is racing. She pats Nicole’s shoulder. _It’s okay, please, just leave it._ But Champ looks indignant, as if he can't believe someone actually has the balls to challenge him.

“What, you jealous?” he scoffs. He addresses Waverly, but looks at Nicole. “Careful, babe. Looks like Haught here is hoping _she’ll_ get in your pants.”

In the silence that follows, a couple of girls hoot with scandalized laughter. Nicole feels a cold wave of nausea pass over her body. She shakily pushes herself to her feet and slips out of the circle, bumping a chair as she goes and breaking into a jog at the edge of the circle.

Waverly’s heart is pounding. She’s never felt so ashamed. All she can think of is apologizing to Nicole.

“Fuck you, Champ,” she says, and realizes there are tears on her face. “We’re done.”

“What? What’d I say?” Champ’s question echoes behind her as she hurries through the yard. Nicole must be moving fast. Waverly breaks into a run and hears Nicole’s car door slam as she rounds the corner of the house.

“Nicole! Nicole, wait, please,” she shouts.

She reaches the car, opens the passenger door, and stands there. Nicole is just sitting there, looking down at her lap.

“Can I get in?” Waverly asks.

Nicole sighs, and finally motions with her head for Waverly to join her.

Waverly climbs in, closes the door, and turns in the seat to face Nicole. “Nicole, I am so s--”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Nicole says quickly.

“Yes, I do.”

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Nicole insists. She looks at Waverly. “Please.”

Waverly wipes at her eyes and takes a deep breath. She runs a hand through her hair, pushing it back off her face. “Are you okay?” she asks Nicole. Her voice is shaking.

“Yeah.” Nicole is surprised to realize that she really does feel okay. Angry, yes, but not particularly worried about what anyone might assume about her. Fuck ’em. They're not her friends, anyway. “I’m sorry I just walked away like that,” she says. “I…” She is wondering what Waverly is thinking about her, but she isn't sure how to ask.

“Don’t be sorry,” Waverly says quickly. “Champ was incredibly rude. I’m so sorry. I invited you here, and I just feel so stupid and… I’m just so sorry.” She rubs her hands over her face.

“Hey,” Nicole says. She puts a hand to Waverly’s wrist and gently tugs her hand away from her face. Waverly quickly wraps her fingers around Nicole’s. “I had fun,” Nicole says. “At least, up until that point.”

Waverly looks skeptical. “You don’t have to lie,” she says.

Nicole laughs quietly. “No, really. I like spending time with you.”

Waverly sniffs and looked up at her. “You’re crazy,” she murmurs. They sit quietly for a moment as Nicole rubs her thumb over Waverly’s hand.

“I told Champ we’re done,” Waverly says, and Nicole looks up at her.

They both jump when someone knocks at Waverly’s window. Waverly rolls it down. Chrissy is there, leaning into the open window. “Hey,” she says softly. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Nicole says, and Waverly nods.

“I grabbed your stuff,” Chrissy says, handing Waverly a bag. “Hey.” She pulls at a strand of Waverly’s hair. “I’m proud of you.”

Waverly scoffs and looks down at the bag in her lap.

“No, seriously,” Chrissy says. “Good for you for dumping his ass. He turned out to be a real piece of shit.”

Nicole squeezes Waverly’s hand as Waverly looks down.

“Look, I don’t know if there’s any truth to what he said about you,” Chrissy says to Nicole, “but for what it’s worth, I already like you, like, a million times more than I like him.”

Nicole squirms uncomfortably, letting go of Waverly’s hand. She really doesn't want Waverly to feel like she's pressuring her, or trying to make her be someone she's not. She hasn't even come out to Waverly yet, for god’s sake.

Waverly looks at her shyly but doesn't say anything.

“I think I’m gonna blow this popsicle stand,” Chrissy says. “You need a ride, Waves?”

“I can take her home,” Nicole says quickly. She looks at Waverly. “If you’d like.”

Waverly nods and reaches for Chrissy’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze before rolling the window up.

Nicole and Waverly drive in silence. Waverly is suddenly exhausted. She rests her head against the back of the seat and closes her eyes, feeling so many things at once: relief over breaking up with Champ, guilt over what he’d said to Nicole, comfort at being alone with her in the dark and silence.

Nicole, for her part, is hyper aware of Waverly, quiet in the seat beside her. She feels both comforted that Waverly followed her and relieved that she doesn't seem to be upset with her. She also wants desperately to know what she's thinking.

When they finally pull up at the McCreadys’, Nicole puts the car in park and looks at Waverly.

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly.

Waverly takes a breath, and then she starts to cry.

“Oh--Waverly.” Nicole reaches for her uncertainly as Waverly folds forward in her seat, her face in her hands. Nicole puts a hand on her back, rubbing slow circles. Waverly cries even harder.

“Oh.” Nicole opens her car door and makes her way around to the passenger side. She opens Waverly’s door and reaches in. “Waverly, come here,” she murmurs.

And Waverly climbs out, slipping her arms around Nicole’s waist and burying her face in her chest.

Nicole holds her tightly, one hand on the back of Waverly’s head, the other wrapped around her shaking body. She rests her cheek on the top of Waverly’s head and murmurs soothing words against her hair, feeling tears pricking at her own eyes.

They stand there for a long time.

Once Waverly’s shuddering breaths have quieted, Nicole asks, “Do you want me to come in with you?”

Waverly wipes at her face and nods. “Would you mind?”

“Of course not.” Nicole closes the passenger door and locks her car. Waverly keeps an arm around her waist as they make their way inside.

Upstairs, in her bedroom, Waverly finds Nicole a t-shirt, and they change and slip into bed. Nicole’s heart is pounding and breaking and swelling as Waverly switches off her lamp and settles in beside her.

“Thanks for staying,” Waverly says quietly. “I’m not usually this pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic,” Nicole says. “You just had a shit night. And I’m happy to stay.”

Waverly sighs. “I feel better now."

“Good,” Nicole whispers. “Just sleep now. You’re safe here.”

Waverly slips an arm over Nicole’s waist. “Is this okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Nicole breathes.

And Waverly drifts off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to start picking up now in the Wayhaught department. This was kind of a hard chapter to write. I'm a little nervous about it. Anyway, thanks for reading!


	7. In which Waverly and Nicole stumble upon the Homestead

A nagging thirst and a heart beating in doubletime wake Waverly up in the early morning. Soupy gray light is just starting to seep into the room, and for a split second she thinks it’s Chrissy in bed beside her. Then everything rushes back. Nicole. That stupid game. Champ.

She lifts the day-old water cup on her night table. It’s half full and tastes like dust and tap minerals, but she gulps it down before burrowing back beneath the covers.

Nicole is asleep, her mouth slightly open, her face a bit shiny. She’s mostly on her stomach, with one hand resting between herself and Waverly. 

Waverly feels more shy now than she did last night, but she studies Nicole’s nose, her eyebrows and lashes, the mole just below her left eye. She looks at her long, slender fingers. The nail on her ring finger is jagged, torn down to the skin, like she’s been picking at it, and she has a tiny cut on her middle finger, just above the knuckle.

Her eyes settle on Nicole’s lips. She listens to the gentle in and out of her breath. Nicole seems to breathe in time with Waverly’s heavily beating heart.

*****

When Nicole wakes up, the sun has risen. She checks her phone; it’s 8:25. She has no missed calls or texts from her parents. 

Waverly is asleep beside her.

She wants so badly to wrap an arm around her, to nuzzle her face into the space above Waverly’s shoulder and breathe in her hair and skin and the lingering smells of bonfire smoke and sleep.

She tries to slide out of bed without waking her--marveling at the fact that she has woken up in Waverly Earp’s bedroom--but Waverly stirs as soon as Nicole pushes back the blankets. Nicole feels embarrassed, awkward in the light of day, the two of them wearing only t-shirts and underwear.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

Waverly makes a small noise as she stretches. “Hey.” Her voice is groggy and her eyes are swollen with sleep, and Nicole can feel her insides melting with tenderness. “What time is it?” Waverly asks.

“Eight-thirty,” Nicole says softly. She wants to stand but feels vulnerable without pants on. “I need to go for my run. You go back to sleep.”

But Waverly sits up, rubbing her hands against her face. “You’re going on a run? Now?”

“Mhmm.”

“Can I come?” Waverly asks.

“On the run?” 

“Yeah.”

“Um, do you run?” Nicole asks. Her automatic inclination is to say  _ yes, yes of course you can come _ . She wants to spend every minute with Waverly. But she feels she should ask at least this basic question first.

“Mmm, no,” Waverly admits, “but I’m in shape. How hard can it be?” She smiles adorably.

Nicole twists her lips into a smile. “Well… okay. But only if we can run in the woods.”

Waverly considers this. She stares hard at Nicole, and Nicole squints back. They break into grins. “Deal,” Waverly concedes. “A Sunday morning run in the woods with you sounds lovely.” She slips out of bed, padding toward her chest of drawers. Her oversized t-shirt brushes against the tops of her thighs. 

Nicole looks, and then quickly looks away.

*****

They’ve gone almost a mile when Waverly slows to a walk, breathing hard and shaking her head. “Do you not… take walk breaks?” she pants, hands on her hips, bent slightly at the waist. She stands in the middle of the trail, looking tiny with evergreens looming on either side of her.

Nicole slows to a jog but keeps moving, looking back with a smile on her face. “No, ma’am,” she calls. “You doing okay?”

“Peachy.” Waverly huffs out a breath, rubs a hand across her forehead and reluctantly starts up again. Her feet kick up pebbles as she runs.

Nicole waits for her to catch up. “Your form could use some work,” she teases. “What happened to being in shape?” 

“I am… in shape,” Waverly says between breaths, giving Nicole a weak shove. They do some conditioning for cheerleading, but apparently not enough. She’s amazed; Nicole has an actual spring in her step. She looks as if she could run forever. “I’d like to see… you do a… toe touch.”

“You definitely do not want to see that,” Nicole replies. 

“I really do,” Waverly pants. “Is it almost time… to turn around?”

Nicole glances at her watch. “We’re only a mile in,” she says. “About one and a half kilometers. We’re just warming up.”

“What? How long is this run?”

“Ten miles.”

Waverly stops running altogether. “Ten miles?! You never said we were going ten miles!”

Nicole pauses beside her but continues to jog in place, her feet making soft crunching noises, her ponytail swinging. “Well, you didn’t ask,” she says. “I have a training schedule to stick to. The race is in a couple of weeks."

Waverly just stares at her in disbelief, her mouth open. Finally, Nicole stops moving and breaks into a smile. “All right,” she says. “I’ll finish my run later.”

Waverly sags in relief, gripping Nicole’s shoulder with one hand. “Oh, thank god,” she exhales. “Can we just walk for a while?”

“Sure,” Nicole laughs.

They make their way side by side down the trail. Waverly chose the trailhead where they began--further north than Nicole has ever run before, although the trails all look much the same and are probably all connected. The woods surrounding them are a bit skeletal at this time of year, many of the trees having shed most of their leaves.

“Nicole,” Waverly says, once she’s caught her breath, “I’m sorry again about last night. About what Champ said.”

Nicole is quiet, thinking. She wonders if she should tell Waverly her secret. Objectively, this seems like as good a time as ever to do it, but the thought scares her. Her heart beats hard as she considers it. 

She’s never told anyone before. She’s only whispered the words alone in the dark, her head under her bed covers. She’s breathed them into the stuffy air, where they balloon into the space, making her feel vulnerable even when she’s alone.  _ I’m gay. I’m gay. I’m gay. _

She wants to say it. She wants to. But she can’t.

“How are you feeling about breaking up with him?” she asks instead.

“Relieved,” Waverly says. “Like I did the right thing.”

Nicole looks at her. “That’s good,” she says. 

Waverly glances at her. “It’s a little bit scary, too.”

“Scary how?”

“Well…” Waverly hesitates, kicking at a pinecone, considering her words. “It just feels so final. It’s hard to just lose someone like that. Even if you’re the one who’s made the decision to walk away, you know? And it’s hard to just  _ walk away _ from someone. To just end a relationship.”

“That makes sense,” Nicole says.

“I mean, Champ may not be the brightest Crayon in the box, or the best boyfriend in the world, but at least he was mine, you know? A person in my life.”

Nicole nods, although she’s not quite sure she understands. But that may be because she’s just not a Champ fan.

“Have you ever had a--a breakup?” Waverly asks, looking over at Nicole.

Nicole shakes her head quickly. “Nope,” she says, and her chest fills again with anxiety.  _ Tell her.  _ “I’ve never dated anyone.” She hesitates. “Never even been kissed.”

“No?” 

“Nope.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Waverly says, elbowing her gently. Nicole is just such a good person _ ,  _ she thinks _.  _ Thoughtful. A good listener. Plus, totally gorgeous. 

Nicole laughs. “Why is that?”

“Well. Because you’re  _ you _ ,” Waverly says, shrugging, as if that explains everything. 

“What, a loner comic book nerd?”

“You like comic books?” Waverly latches onto this new information. “I didn’t know that. Which ones do you like?”

“Well, right now I’m reading  _ Paper Girls _ ,” Nicole says. “Do you know it?”

“Mmm. No. But I’ve never read a comic book.”

Nicole is not the slightest bit surprised to hear this, but she pretends astonishment. “Never?! Not even one? We’ll have to change that. I’ll make you a list.”

“That’d be nice,” Waverly says sincerely. She wants to know what Nicole reads. What kinds of stories she likes and what makes her think. Nicole is a bit of a mystery to her. 

*****

A short distance north of Waverly and Nicole, just beyond the crop of trees, lies a pond. Waverly knows the pond is there, although she hasn’t been on this trail in years. She knows that if they continue on their current path, they’ll emerge from the woods, and in the distance there will be a house with a porch, and a small barn.

She thinks she should either inform Nicole of this, or turn them around. They’ve been walking for quite a while now.

“Nicole, wait.” Waverly stops walking, her hand on Nicole’s wrist. Nicole turns to look at her. 

Waverly remembers a layer of ice, frosted with smooth snow. A crack beneath her feet. Willa, running away from her.

“Um, I just--we’re close to my old house. My family’s old house,” Waverly says, gesturing ahead of them. 

Nicole turns to look, although the house isn’t in sight yet, and then looks back at Waverly. “Do you want to turn around? We can turn around.”

“No, I--I kind of want to see it. If you don’t mind,” Waverly stammers. She shivers suddenly. The sweat has turned cold on her skin.

“Okay,” Nicole says, looking closely at her.

“Will you go with me?” Her voice is small and tentative, her hand still holding Nicole’s wrist. Nicole places her other hand on top of Waverly’s.

“Of course.”

*****

Waverly feels sick the rest of the way, so distracted she can barely field Nicole’s questions about when she was last there, whether anyone lives there now, whether she’s certain it’s still standing. There’s a fog in her brain, a buzz of thoughts. 

It’s obvious to Nicole that she is lost in thought. As they approach the house, Nicole is torn between watching Waverly, who is wide-eyed and silent, and studying the property ahead of them.

They stop in front of a square arch of rough-hewn logs and stare at the wooden plank nailed crookedly at the top and center. EARP. The planks of the simple wooden fence on either side of the arch are knocked out of place, tilted and leaning, and there’s junk in the yard. An old tractor tire. Piles of lumber. A rusty lawn chair. Nicole imagines Waverly as a child, running through the yard, from house to barn and back.

Waverly slips her hand into Nicole’s, and Nicole looks at her.

“Can we go inside?” Waverly asks.

Nicole looks at the house. It’s run down, and the front window is broken, but it looks stable enough. She notices a skull nailed above the front porch, its antlers--or perhaps horns--curved like backward tusks. “Do you think it’s safe?” she asks.

Waverly shrugs, and without discussing it, they cross beneath the arch and walk toward the house.

*****

It’s unlocked. Waverly gingerly turns the handle and pushes the door open. They do everything carefully; their steps are light, their voices low, as if too much movement will disturb something about this place. 

Stepping into the house, Waverly is suddenly out of breath, her heart beating as though they’ve just run all ten miles. She gazes, wide-eyed, into the dilapidation of the front room. Sharp pebbles of shattered glass blanket the wood floor, and dust lies thick on every surface.

Everything is still here. Waverly had just assumed that it would be empty, the ghost of her family’s old home, intransient and vague.

It’s the sight of objects long forgotten--the armchair in the corner, the fireplace mantle, the bookshelf against the back wall--that tear Waverly from the moment and send her hurtling backward through time, to that night when she was so little, and so frightened. 

The night her father died.

The sounds assault her rapidly, one after the other: the breaking glass, running footsteps, men shouting. Willa’s screams. The gunshot.

*****

Nicole has never had a panic attack, nor witnessed anyone else having a panic attack, but she’s pretty sure that’s what’s happening to Waverly now. 

She feels Waverly’s grip on her hand loosen. She’s hyperventilating as she sinks to her knees on the dusty wood floor, and Nicole follows her down, one arm across her back, the other gripping her upper arm. 

“Waverly,” she says. 

Waverly gasps for air. Her face is dry and pale, her eyes shut tight. She doesn’t seem to hear Nicole.

Nicole rubs her back, pushes her hair back from her face, repeats her name until something shifts and Waverly looks at her, her eyes focusing on Nicole’s as her breathing slows and she begins to tremble. Her face crumples, and she folds forward into Nicole, who is sure that Waverly must be able to feel the fear-beat of her heart.

*****

Waverly cannot bring herself to go upstairs yet, to where her and her sisters’ old bedrooms are. So they walk into the kitchen, and Waverly is surprised to find two empty liquor bottles on the table, and a quarter of a bottle of whiskey on the counter. 

“What the fuck…?” she says quietly. “Whose are these?”

Nicole peers at one of the bottles on the table. “They’re not dusty,” she says. “And look, the table’s all streaky. Someone’s been here, is all. Probably kids looking for a place to drink.”

“Yeah,” Waverly says. “I guess.” She shivers and looks around, feeling suddenly watched. A little bit spooked. “God, this place. Being here is bringing back… so much. It’s like, not memories, exactly, but flashes and feelings…” She trails off, shaking her head frustratedly.

Nicole places a hand on her back. She’s starting to feel a little bit creeped out herself. The broken glass in the living room, the bottles. What happened here? Was this where  _ it  _ happened? “Should we go?” she asks.

“Soon. I just want to...” Waverly walks out of the kitchen, toward the staircase leading upstairs, keeping her head turned away from the living room.

She takes a deep breath and walks slowly, quietly, upstairs. 

Nicole watches her, hesitant, and then follows. “Waverly,” she whisper-calls. “Wait.” She’s afraid, suddenly, that someone might be hiding upstairs, listening. 

Waverly stops at the threshold of a room at the top. The door is open just a crack. Nicole walks up beside her, looking around cautiously. Everything is quiet and still; not even the whistling of the wind penetrates the walls.

“This was my dad’s room,” Waverly says. 

“Are you sure you want to go in there?” Nicole asks nervously. “Maybe we should just leave.” She bites her lip when Waverly pushes the door open suddenly and marches in. 

The room is sparse: a bed, a nightstand, a low chest of drawers, a small desk and chair. It’s as if nothing in this house was touched after the Earps left it. Nicole can hardly believe it.

“I just need to look,” Waverly says. 

She walks to the desk and begins pulling open drawers, reaching her hands into the corners to feel around. She pulls out a couple of scraps of paper, turns them over, discards them. She moves to the closet and pauses, standing with her hand on the open closet door, staring for a moment at her father’s coats on hangers before reaching her hands into the pockets, pulling out nothing.

“Waverly,” Nicole says, as Waverly hurries back past her. “What are you doing? What are you looking for?”

Waverly leaves the room, thunders back down the stairs and into the living room. She pulls books off shelves, opens their covers, shoves them back into place. She crouches to peer into the air vent near the floor.

“Waverly.” Nicole places a hand on her shoulder, and Waverly looks up quickly, her mouth slightly open, her eyes frantic. Nicole gestures around helplessly. “What are you doing?”

Waverly stands. “I… I don’t know,” she says. “I guess I just… thought I’d find something. Some information, or explanation. Our old photos. Daddy’s old books. His gun.  _ Something _ . But there’s nothing. It’s like someone came through and took everything.”

“Wait, your dad’s gun?” Nicole is a little bit alarmed. “Why do you want that?”

Waverly looks away. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Okay…” Nicole is beginning to feel overwhelmed. And more than a little bit frightened by Waverly’s behavior.

“Can we go?” Waverly asks suddenly, crossing her arms tightly against her middle.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” 

Nicole rubs Waverly’s back as they exit the house. She’s relieved to pull the door closed behind them. “You cold?” she asks. She shivers.

“Yeah.” 

They walk quickly through the scrubby grass, passing beneath the arch. The Homestead feels oppressive now, somehow, surrounding them, taunting Waverly with memories of her past.

“Let’s run,” she says nervously. She takes off before Nicole can answer, pulling ahead, and speeds up until she feels her legs stretching beneath her, reaching for each stride, her feet striking the ground hard. The cold wind whistles in her ears; her eyes stream. 

When they’re back in the relative safety of the woods, among the protection of the evergreens, Nicole pulls up next to her, breathing hard. They glance at each other as they run. Nicole’s eyes gleam, and then they look forward, pushing harder than ever, sprinting side by side.

Waverly’s breath comes in quick, hard bursts that ache in her throat. Her legs are getting heavy; she can’t last much longer. At any rate, she knows that Nicole can run further and faster than she can. 

She slows down, and beside her, Nicole slows, too, their strides getting sloppy, feet slapping the ground.

“You  _ can  _ run,” Nicole says, breathing hard.

“Burst of energy, I guess.” Waverly laughs shakily. “Now I’m wiped.” 

They shuffle along, hands on their hips, allowing their breathing to slow, and then Nicole throws an arm out impulsively, stepping in front of Waverly. “Climb up.”

“What?”

Nicole bends her knees and holds her arms out, glancing over her shoulder at Waverly. “Jump up. I’ll carry you.”

“Nicole--”

“Come on,” she insists. “What, you don’t think I’m strong enough?” She looks back at Waverly, grinning.

Waverly worries her bottom lip with her teeth, and then places her hands on Nicole’s shoulders. “You are crazy,” she says, and she hops onto her back, wrapping her arms around Nicole’s neck, her legs around her waist. 

“And you are a feather,” Nicole says. She straightens, tucking her hands under Waverly’s thighs, and hitches her up higher to get a better grip. Truly, she’s about as heavy as a full backpack.

Waverly smiles. She can’t remember the last time someone carried her piggyback. Curtis, probably, when she was a child. This feels different.  _ Nicole  _ feels different. Waverly is affectionate with her friends, but this sensation--another girl’s strong body against her own--is new. And nice. 

The side of Waverly’s face is touching Nicole’s. Their skin is damp and warm, their ears pressed together. Waverly jostles gently, her feet dangling in the air, as Nicole walks.

“Can I ask you a question?” Nicole says quietly. She doesn’t want to seem nosy, but she also cares too much to let it go. 

“Okay.”

“What happened back there?”

Waverly sighs. “You mean the panic attack?”

“Was it… bad memories?” Nicole asks.

Waverly remembers, again, the shattering glass. She tightens her arms around Nicole. “Yeah,” she says. “Memories. From the night my dad died.”

“I’m sorry,” Nicole says. “We shouldn’t have gone there.”

Waverly continues. “It’s like it all came flashing back, all at once.” She places her chin on Nicole’s shoulder and closes her eyes. “The night everything finally fell apart.”

Nicole stays quiet, waiting for Waverly to continue. After a moment, she does.

“It was more than that, though. It’s like… it’s like I had two separate childhoods. The one before Daddy died, and the one after. I don’t think about the one  _ before  _ very often.”

“What was it like before?” Nicole asks. “Were you happy?”

Waverly thinks carefully before she answers. Now that she’s opened the shutters, peered through the windows of her memory, she can’t stop the details that continue to rise, branching off of one another like frost spreading across a pane. 

“I didn’t really realize I wasn’t happy,” she says. “That’s just how I thought life was supposed to be. Daddy wasn’t… He wasn’t very nice to my mama. She left. And my oldest sister, Willa… She wasn’t very nice to me. Nobody really paid much attention to me, unless Willa felt like torturing me. And Wynonna idolized her and Daddy.”

This is the first time Waverly has ever spoken so openly about this. She closes her eyes and just keeps talking.

“It wasn’t until I moved in with Gus and Curtis that I realized how much I’d been missing before. Stable adults who could actually care for me, and all that. But I was also heartbroken. I’d lost… everyone. All at once.”

“God, Waverly,” Nicole says. “I’m so sorry. That must have been so hard.  _ More  _ than hard.”

Waverly takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly and shakily. “Yeah,” she breathes.

“You still had Wynonna, though?” Nicole asks.

Waverly hesitates. “Not really. Not until later. They took her away for a while--at the time, I didn’t know where, exactly. They just told me she had to go away to a place where people would make her better. And then, foster homes. In and out. And she was always in trouble.

“We only really reconnected in the last couple of years. And Wynonna doesn’t like to talk about her past much. Or our past.”

They walk in silence, until Nicole’s forearms begin to burn a little from the effort of gripping Waverly’s legs. Walls of gray clouds have blocked the sun, bringing the temperature down, but Waverly’s body is warm against Nicole’s back, and she doesn’t want to put her down. 

She hasn’t asked any of the questions she really wants to ask.  _ Why did Wynonna shoot her dad? What happened to Willa?  _

“What were you hoping to find in there?” she asks.

Waverly isn’t sure how to answer this. What  _ was  _ she looking for? Evidence that Revenants exist? Letters? Information about the Curse, about Wyatt Earp? 

“Well…” she begins, “Remember when I was in the library a few weeks ago?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’ve been hoping to just look into my family history, I guess. There’s not really anyone I can ask, and I’ve been… curious, lately.”

“What about your aunt and uncle? Could you ask them?” 

“I sort of tried to ask Uncle Curtis. But they don’t really like talking about that stuff.”

“Maybe you should try again,” Nicole says. 

“Probably.”

“I can help you look at the archives, if you want,” she offers.

“Oh… that’s nice of you,” Waverly says. “I’ll let you know.” 

“Okay.” Silence. Then: “Waverly? Do you have panic attacks a lot?” 

“Not as much as I used to,” Waverly says. “Used to all the time. And horrible night terrors. Those have mostly gone away.”  _ Now I’m just normal amounts of fucked up _ . “I never had it as bad as Wynonna.”

“Maybe,” Nicole says. “But… that doesn’t mean you had it easy.”

Waverly blinks back tears.

After another minute, Nicole comes to a stop. “All right,” she says, “I’m afraid my upper body strength has reached its limit.” 

She loosens her grip, and Waverly kisses her cheek before she reluctantly slides off Nicole’s back. Both immediately miss the closeness. Waverly’s entire body, even her face, feels warm. Her eyes slide to the inch of skin that shows when Nicole stretches her arms overhead, arching backwards a bit.

*****

In the car, Nicole’s heart is pounding as she starts the car. She leaves it in park and turns to Waverly.

“I lied to you earlier,” she says.

Waverly frowns a little and tilts her head. “About what?”

“I  _ have _ kissed someone before,” Nicole blurts, and her voice sounds too loud and nervous. “One of my mom’s friend’s kids. We were at a Christmas party. I was in seventh grade. She was in eighth.”

Jyoti, that was her name. She and Nicole had been the only two kids at the party, and they’d spent most of it in the finished basement, playing Mario Kart until their thumbs were numb. 

When they tired of that, they put in a DVD, cranked the volume to drown out the muffled laughter and sounds of clicking heels floating down from upstairs. 

Jyoti piled blankets and pillows in front of the television and flipped the lights. They lay on the floor, heads propped up on throw pillows, faces lit by the glow of the screen. 

Neither of them ever talked about it, even in the moment. For half of the movie, Jyoti held Nicole’s hand under the blankets. Nicole stared straight ahead at the screen, her heart pounding, her palm sweating, and didn’t hear a word of the film. 

She only turned her head when Jyoti rolled toward her and placed her other hand on Nicole’s stomach. Nicole closed her eyes and pressed her lips against Jyoti’s. 

Nicole looks at Waverly. Her mouth is dry, her face prickling with anxiety. Did she get it? Did Waverly understand what she was trying to tell her?

There’s a beat, and then Waverly asks, “Was it a good kiss?”

“Yes,” Nicole says slowly. “It was like… it made my whole life up until that point make sense.”   


Waverly gazes thoughtfully at Nicole, her eyes searching her face. She nods slowly. “Thank you for telling me.”

*****

Nicole drops Waverly at home. 

Inside, in the kitchen, Curtis is sitting at the table with a cup of coffee. 

“Waverly,” he says when she walks in. “Keep your shoes on. You need to learn how to shoot a gun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, friends. For those of you still sticking with this fic, thank you. I know it's a slow burn, but it'll happen. I just can't rush baby Wayhaught--it wouldn't feel true to them. And I'm having too much fun exploring their lives as teenagers. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for your comments and kudos and clicks. You're all top shelf, man. 
> 
> <3 TeaPet


	8. In which Uncle Curtis becomes an ally in the search for Earp truth

Waverly’s right shoulder aches where the butt of the shotgun kicks back against her. She’s been holding it snugly against herself, standing tall and firm like Curtis instructed her, muscles not tense but steady; yet she never feels entirely prepared for the force of the gun or the explosive bang when she pulls the trigger.

They’re firing at clay pigeons on Curtis’s land, the orange discs shrinking to nothing but small, dark specks against the white sky. Waverly hasn’t managed to hit a single one. She’s only getting more frustrated, and increasingly anxious, with each pigeon Curtis launches into the air. She’s close to tears, her head in a hundred different places.

The conversation she had in the car with Nicole, about Nicole’s first kiss, keeps nagging at her. What she needs is to sit down and just think about it, turn it over in her mind a few times.

“Uncle Curtis,” she says finally, lowering the gun and plucking an earplug out of one ear.

“Keep the barrel off the ground.” Curtis gestures.

“Sorry.” She hastily lifts the shotgun, keeping it aimed down and away from them both. It feels unwieldy and foreign—dangerous, even—in her hands, and she’s still not entirely sure where to grasp it, although Curtis has described all of its parts and shown her how to load it.

“Are you going to tell me why I need to learn how to shoot a gun all of a sudden?”

Curtis purses his lips before sighing resignedly. “Come on. Let’s put that thing away, and we’ll talk.”

With the shotgun secure in its case, the two of them wander the nearby grounds, looking for intact pigeons. Waverly walks with her arms crossed tightly across her middle, shivering, her hair blown back by the wind. She’s exhausted, in desperate need of a shower, and ready to be out of the cold, but Curtis doesn’t seem to notice.

“You probably think your old uncle is a crazy man,” Curtis begins. Waverly tries to smile, but it turns into more of a grimace.

“I’ve been thinking about what you asked me a few weeks ago,” he says, “about Purgatory.”

Waverly catches a flash of orange and bends to pick a clay pigeon out of the long, browning grass. Without looking at her uncle, she asks, “What about it?”

“If anything ever happened to you, Waverly,” Curtis continues, his voice gruff, “and I didn’t teach you how to defend yourself, I’d never forgive myself.”

Waverly feels a twinge of anxiety in her gut as she rotates the rough clay in her hands. “Defend myself from what?”

“Well… I can’t exactly say.”

“Uncle Curtis--”

“It’s not that I’m keepin’ it from you,” Curtis says, speaking gently over her. “It’s that I don’t rightly know. Your dad—well, he and I spent quite a bit of time at Shorty’s. And you know your old man: When he got to drinkin’, he also got to talkin’.”

Waverly looks sharply at him, suddenly rapt.

“’Course, I always thought he had a screw loose, shootin’ off at the mouth about—about _demons_ and such.” Curtis looks around, as if someone may have snuck up on them to eavesdrop. He glances sideways at Waverly, too, as if to see whether she’ll scoff, but her expression is serious.

“Anyway, after he died, and after Willa disappeared, I got to really thinkin’ about everything he told me. Thinkin’ maybe he wasn’t as crazy as I’d thought he was.”

Curtis stops walking, so Waverly does, too. He turns to her. “Is any of this making any sense, hon? I don’t know how much your dad told you before he died. Or how much you remember.”

A gust of wind rushes across the prairie, whipping strands of hair into Waverly’s face, but she barely notices the sting. She can hardly breathe.

Bits and pieces, that’s what she remembers. A bottle of golden liquid always at her dad’s elbow. The four of them, three girls and their father, gathered at the table as Ward lectured them conspiratorially, intensely, about what awaited them as Earps.

She’d been so young then. Nobody bothered to invite her to the conversation, so she would sidle up to Wynonna’s side and listen in, wide eyed, eager to be included in the excitement.

“Do you know about the Curse?” she chokes out, her voice little more than a whisper.

Curtis looks hesitantly at her. “I don’t know much. For a long time I wasn’t entirely sure I believed in it. But I know your dad did.”

“And Wynonna,” Waverly says tersely. “Wynonna believes in it.”

Curtis bows his head. “Yes.”

“Why are you telling me all this now?”

Curtis lifts his cap to scratch the crown of his head. “Well, I think—” He breaks off, shaking his head at the ground.

“I think I failed your sister. Wynonna. I thought I was doin’ the right thing, ignoring it. Tryin’ to keep her grounded in reality. And you know your aunt; she’d never talk about it. But I think—I think it may have done more harm than good.

“And now she’s gone, and you’re gettin’ older and askin’ questions, and…” Curtis’s voice is husky, and he can’t seem to look at Waverly. “I guess I’ve just been doing a lot of thinkin’ since Wynonna left.”

Waverly takes a step toward her uncle, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. Placing a thick arm around her shoulders, he kisses her hairline, his stubble rough against her forehead. She leans her head against his chest and closes her eyes against hot tears of relief and fear.

“I don’t want to fail you, too,” Curtis rasps.

“You could never fail me, Uncle Curtis,” Waverly murmurs into his shoulder. “I just want to know the truth.”

“Uncovering the truth can take a lifetime of work,” Curtis says. “And even then, you might never find it. But I think it’s time I show you something.”

* * *

 

That evening, Nicole finds Jeremy in the juvenile fiction section at the library. Dressed in his yellow uniform shirt and standing with his face in a book, he’s supposed to be shelving the cart of novels at his side.

“Are you seriously reading _Captain Underpants?_ ” Nicole asks, smirking as she approaches.

Jeremy startles and nearly drops the book. “No,” he says immediately, slapping it closed.

“ _Captain Underpants and the Tyrannical Retaliation of the Turbo Toilet 2000_.” Nicole stops beside Jeremy and places a hand on his shoulder as she squints at the cover. “Didn’t that win a Newbery?”

“Shut up,” Jeremy says. He rolls his eyes and hastily shelves the book. “Why are you even here?”

“Rude.” Nicole glances around. There are a few kids playing at the Lego table, and a couple of parents trailing behind their children, holding armfuls of _Pinkalicious_ and _Paw Patrol_ books. “Can I talk to you?”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“In here.” She grabs Jeremy by the arm and tugs, leading him through the dark, empty storytime room and into the large supply closet. She closes the door and flicks on the light. Inside, the shelves are packed with dozens of plastic bins of craft supplies, and it smells comfortingly of childhood: Crayons and acrylic paint and construction paper.

Jeremy stands there, staring at her expectantly, and suddenly she’s nervous and uncertain. But she’s come this far. Jeremy is her best friend. Jeremy is _gay._ Why is this so hard? “Um, I have to tell you something,” she mumbles.

“I gathered as much,” Jeremy says, crossing his arms. “What’s up?”

“Uh. I kind of have a problem.”

He raises his eyebrows. “What kind of problem?”

Nicole takes a deep breath and lets it out. “So I have a… crush,” she says. “On, um…”

“Wait,” Jeremy interrupts, holding a hand up. “You don’t have to tell me. I already know.”

“You do?” _Oh, god._ Has she been that obvious?

“Yes. It’s obvious.” Jeremy pauses, and Nicole widens her eyes, waiting. “You’re in love with Robin.”

“ _What?_ Robin? Wait. You think I’m in love with Robin?”

“Well, who wouldn’t be?” Jeremy shrugs.

“ _I_ wouldn’t,” Nicole says. She picks a glue stick up off the counter and uncaps it, twisting the gooey purple substance up and down. “Not that he’s not cute,” she says quickly. “It’s just.” Deep breath. “I’m not… into… guys?”

Jeremy looks like he’s trying to hold back an enormous grin. “Nicole.”

She peers up at him. “You knew.”

He nods. “I mean, I had my suspicions. I was just waiting for you to tell me.”

Nicole sighs. She feels the uncomfortable prickle of vulnerability settle over her body, but her shoulders also loosen a little with relief. It’s done, and she’s still alive. She did it.

“Hey.” Jeremy touches her arm. “It’s okay. It’s _more_ than okay. It’s…” He seems to search around for the right words. “Honestly, it’s amazing. Maybe it’s selfish, but I’m so excited to have another gay friend.”

Nicole twists her lips into the semblance of a smile. The words “gay friend” seem to ring loudly in the craft closet, striking her heart before settling comfortably there. It’s so strange to hear those words in reference to herself, but it’s also so good. “Yeah?”

“Dude, _yes._ ” Jeremy laughs.

Nicole smiles a little. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m glad you told me. _Finally._ Also, remind me, before you leave I have another comic to show you.

“Wait! Dude! Your crush! Is she gay? Do I know her? Oh my god, do you have a secret girlfriend?” Jeremy babbles.

“Oh my god, _no_.” Nicole rolls her eyes and tosses the glue stick onto the counter, wishing she really did have a secret girlfriend (Waverly) to tell Jeremy about. “It’s embarrassing and cliche, and she’s a cheerleader and probably straight, and I’m obsessed, and I don’t know what to do,” she gushes, covering her face with her hands.

“Okay, let me guess for real this time,” Jeremy says. “Waverly Earp?” Nicole just groans, her face still hidden, and he sighs. “Oh, Nicole. Well, she is really cute.”

“I _knowwww,”_ Nicole moans as heat floods her face. “She’s _so gorgeous._ ” Which is a complete understatement, since Nicole knows that no other girl in existence is as beautiful as Waverly.

“You’re sure she’s not gay?”

“I mean, no, but she was with Champ fucking Hardy,” Nicole says, her voice taking a bitter turn when she says his name.

“So? That literally means nothing. She could be bi,” Jeremy points out.

For the first time, Nicole allows herself to wonder whether Waverly might feel something for her. She thinks of how Waverly always slips her hand into hers and remembers the weight of Waverly’s arm across her waist as they fell asleep. But…

“There’s just no way I could be _that_ lucky,” she says. “I mean, there's no way. How do you stop having a crush on a straight person? Hasn’t this ever happened to you before?”

“Uh, yeah. Pretty sure it’s happened to every gay person alive,” Jeremy says. “Welcome to the club.”

Nicole sighs and whispers, “But why does she have to be so wonderful?”

“Hey,” Jeremy says, “ _you_ are wonderful, even if you are a pain in my neck sometimes. And I think it’s too early to give up hope. Maybe—”

“No no no no no no,” Nicole interrupts. “I need to get over her. I kind of came out to her today—”

“You _did?_ ”

“—and I’m worried that now that she _knows_ , she’s going to, like, figure out that I like her and it’s going to be super awkward, and what if she doesn’t want to be friends anymore? Because I don’t think I could handle that.”

She stops rambling and takes a deep breath, then notices that her back pocket is vibrating. She pulls out her phone.

“It’s her,” she says, looking wide-eyed from the screen to Jeremy. “It’s like she knew I was talking about her.”

“Answer it!” Jeremy practically shouts.

“I’m freaking out!”

“ _Nicole!_ ” Jeremy snatches the phone from her and swipes the screen to answer the call, then holds it up to her ear.

Nicole flails her hands and shoots Jeremy her fiercest glare before taking the phone and forcing herself to speak calmly. “Hello?”

* * *

 

When Gus had entered the barn to fetch Curtis to help prepare dinner, she’d been surprised to hear his voice floating down from the loft. And she’d been completely bewildered when Waverly’s head popped out from behind a stack of feed bags up there.

“What in god’s name are ya doin’ in the loft? Waverly?”

“Waverly’s just helpin’ me organize some of this crap,” Curtis said before Waverly could even open her mouth.

“You couldn’t have gotten Champ’s help for that?” Gus asked. “Waverly, come on down. Don’t let your uncle talk you into climbing rickety ladders just because he’s too lazy to move his own shit.” She rolled her eyes and held back a wry smile, torn between amusement and disapproval.

There was a bit of rustling and a quiet _thunk_ from up in the loft, and then Waverly appeared, turning her back to Gus so she could climb shakily down the ladder.

Gus stood protectively near the bottom, as if she could catch her niece if she fell. “Be careful, now.”

*****

Dinner is more quiet than usual. After a few more minutes of chastising Curtis for taking Waverly into the loft, the three of them fall into silence as they eat. Waverly pushes roasted squash around her plate, not noticing Curtis’s occasional nervous glance her way.

“...games this week?”

Waverly catches the tail end of Gus’s question, the buzz in her brain quieting just enough. “Hmm?” She looks up. “Games?”

Gus watches her, fork in hand, with a concerned frown on her face. “You okay, Waverly?”

Waverly forces herself not to look at Curtis and pretends not to notice the worry in Gus’s eyes. “Yeah, sorry. Just tired.” She clears her throat. “What did you say?”

“Just wondering about your schedule for the week.”

“First basketball game on Tuesday.” Waverly tries to smile. “Probably won’t be home until after.”

Gus nods, and when Curtis pipes up, “Kickin’ off the season with a match against Pine Creek,” Waverly tunes out again.

Her leg is bouncing underneath the table. She’s dying to get back to the barn, but she’s also terrified of what she might discover in the trunk that Curtis unearthed from the piles of storage in the loft. They’d had only a few minutes before Gus had interrupted them. What’s the best way to sneak out there without Gus catching her? Or should she wait for a time when Gus isn’t home?

She also wants desperately to call Nicole, but she’s asked so much of Nicole already today: to visit the Homestead, to listen to the pain of her past, to care for her when the memories came flooding back. She doesn’t want to burden Nicole, and she’s terrified of scaring her away—if she hasn’t already.

After dinner she showers and escapes to her bedroom with a mug of chamomile, claiming homework. Her eyelids and limbs are heavy with exhaustion, but her stomach is twisting with anxiety. At this rate, relaxation is not in the cards tonight.

She paces from one edge of her room to the other, phone in hand, breathing too fast. Champ has tried to reach her twice today, but she can’t bring herself to open his texts.

If only Wynonna were here.

As she paces, she allows herself to fully replay the conversation in Nicole’s car. A film plays in her mind: Nicole and Jyoti lying on their sides, Jyoti’s trembling fingers on Nicole’s face, their closed lips touching.

She feels a swoop in her stomach, something like nerves, like the way your stomach floats when you drive too fast over a hump in the road.

For some reason, she wonders if Nicole thinks _she_ is pretty. If Nicole has ever thought about kissing her. She decides that she would like that, for Nicole to be attracted to her. It would be nice to be Nicole’s favorite. The thought is… exciting.

*****

She gives her homework an honest try, but it’s hopeless; her head is everywhere but in her studies. When Chrissy Nedley calls her after about forty-five minutes, she answers.

“Hey, C.”

“Hey, Waves. Just calling to check in, you know… How you doing?”

Waverly sighs and stands up to resume her pacing. “I’m all right. Champ has been texting me, but I don’t want to engage.”

“Wow,” Chrissy says. “Well, maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe you need some space.”

“Yeah, although space might be hard to come by in Purgatory,” Waverly says. “I mean, he works for my uncle.” She bends at the waist to touch her toes, feeling her calves and hamstrings stretch painfully. She’s going to be sore from her attempted run.

“Mm. True. How’s Nicole?”

Waverly’s stomach drops as she realizes all of a sudden that Champ’s insinuation at the bonfire had been far closer to the truth than she’d realized. _Oh, god. Nicole._ How did she not think of that? She feels so selfish and self-absorbed. The guilt crashes, once again, onto her shoulders. What had he said? _Seems like Nicole wants to get in your pants?_

“I think she’s okay,” she manages to say.

“It was a shitty thing for him to say,” Chrissy says. “I hope it doesn’t start any crazy rumors or anything.”

“What do you mean?” Waverly asks, frowning.

“I don’t know, that she’s gay or something.”

“Why does it matter if she’s gay?”

“ _Is_ she gay?” Chrissy asks.

“I don’t know,” Waverly lies, “but who cares if she is?”

“Well, _I_ don’t care, obviously,” Chrissy says, “but some people might.”

“Well, screw them,” Waverly says, angry now.

“Agreed,” Chrissy says, sounding mildly defensive.

“Is everyone talking about it? The other girls?”

“I mean, a little bit. But not so much about Nicole. Mostly about you breaking up with Champ.”

“Oh.”

They’re silent for a minute, and then Chrissy asks, “So what’d you do the rest of your weekend?”

“Hung out with Nicole,” Waverly says. “She spent the night after the party.”

“Oh. That’s cool. Hey, you wanna come over after school on Tuesday? Before the game?”

“Maybe. Can I let you know later?”

“Okay,” Chrissy sounds a bit let down. “Well, I’m gonna go, then. Just wanted to check in.”

“Okay,” Waverly says. “Thanks, Chris. For calling.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

She calls Nicole immediately after hanging up.

* * *

 

“Ohhh-kay.” Nicole flips off her headlights and tries to coast, in total darkness, down the road toward the McCready property, but she presses the brake almost immediately.

“Nope, nope, nope.” The way may be clear, but she’s convinced she’s about to drive into a brick wall in the dark. Steering toward the edge of the road, she pulls all the way onto the gravel shoulder and cuts the engine.

She’ll walk from here.

It’s nearly ten p.m. and freezing. Wind whistles in the treetops as she rewraps her chunky scarf and hugs herself against the cold. The McCready house looms about a quarter mile down the road, a couple of its windows lit. The barn is somewhere to the left of the house, at the bottom of the dark expanse of sloping lawn.

She pulls out her phone to text Waverly that she’s close. This is all too weird, and she has no idea what’s going on. But Waverly asked her to come, and she instructed Nicole to be “extremely sneaky” about it, so here she is, dressed like a ninja in black leggings and hoodie.

 _Whipped_ , she thinks. _Pathetic._

Heart hammering in her chest, she hurries across the lawn, sticking close to the fence, tripping twice on small bumps and divots in the grass.

*****

Waverly is in the barn doorway, wearing a fuzzy, leopard-print coat, arms wrapped around her middle. Behind her, the interior is dimly lit. She’s been out here for twenty minutes now, pacing and checking her phone impatiently. Sneaking quietly out the back door after Gus and Curtis had retreated to their bedroom was easier than she’d expected it to be.

Relief washes through her when she sees the dim outline of Nicole approaching. She gestures at her to hurry, then grabs Nicole’s hand and pulls her into the barn, sliding the rumbling door closed behind them.

Inside it’s cold, but at least there’s no wind. The barn is large and smells pleasantly of earth and wood and oil. Farm equipment hulks along the perimeter like sleeping monsters; the walls are hung with tools and the loft piled with boxes and bulging white bags of seed.

Nicole glances around, noticing the electric lantern and portable work light illuminating the area at the base of a simple wooden ladder leading to the loft.

“Waverly, what in the world is going on?” she whispers, totally confused and slightly afraid. “Are you okay?”

As they move into the light, her gaze settles on Waverly, and she takes in her appearance for the time tonight. She looks a mess: face pale, eyes puffy, hair falling over her shoulders in limp, air-dried strands. Her bottom lip is swollen, as though she’s been chewing on it. More than anything, she looks on edge, with her eyes darting anxiously around Nicole’s face.

Without thinking, Nicole reaches out and grazes her fingertips against Waverly’s jaw. Her skin is cool, almost clammy.

It’s a quick touch, but Waverly feels something inside her reach toward Nicole at the gesture, as if Nicole holds a string attached to her heart. She wants to lean forward, chase the touch.

“Sorry,” Nicole murmurs, just as Waverly says, “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have asked you to come out here. I just—” She breaks off, biting her lip.

“What’s going on?” Nicole tries again, her brow wrinkled with concern.

Waverly opens her mouth, hesitates, and then says, “You know how there was like, nothing at the Homestead? My family’s old place?”

“Yeah…” Nicole says, although she’s not entirely sure what Waverly is talking about.

“Well, I found it. Sort of. I mean, my uncle has it.”

“Has what?” Nicole asks, frowning.

“A trunk full of stuff. It’s in the loft. Old photo albums and some articles and letters and stuff. He showed me today, but we only had a minute to look before my aunt called us in to help out with dinner.”

Nicole nods slowly, feeling as though she’s missing something. Sure, family history and photos are important, but why does this need to be so clandestine? Why did Waverly summon her here, long after dark on a Sunday night?

She looks confused, and Waverly feels suddenly frantic to explain herself, and worried that Nicole may be annoyed by this drama. She realizes she hasn’t really thought this through. If she wants to hold onto Nicole’s friendship, telling her about the Curse is out of the question. But is there any way to impress upon her the importance of the trunk without telling her about the Curse? She feels a swoop of anxiety in her stomach.

“Did you want to look at it tonight?” Nicole glances up at the loft. Her question breaks through Waverly’s thoughts.

Waverly nods, then shakes her head, running her hands through her hair. “No. I don’t know. I’m sorry, I feel so stupid. I don’t know why I asked you out here. Everything just felt so overwhelming all of a sudden, and I just… I don’t—”

“Hey. Hey,” Nicole says, squeezing her shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Waverly says again. “I get fixated on something, and I feel like I can’t think about anything else, and I can’t calm down until I do something about it. And I’ve just been thinking about all this stuff so much lately, and then today at the Homestead, and to find out that there’s stuff _here,_ and it’s been here the whole time…”

Nicole looks at Waverly wringing her hands against her chest. Her eyes are shining, her shoulders hunched. She’s worried that Waverly is going to have another panic attack, and she’s feeling more than a little anxious herself, so she puts her hands on either side of Waverly’s face and says, softly, “Hey. Breathe. Breathe.”

Waverly closes her eyes and takes a deep, shaky breath. Nicole’s hands are soft and, remarkably, warm despite the temperature in the barn. Warmth seems to travel from her hands all the way into Waverly’s chest, and then lower into her belly. She grasps Nicole’s wrists with her own cold fingers and holds on tight.

“We’re not going to look at it tonight, okay?” Nicole’s voice is low and calm and comforting. She glances up again, and Waverly follows her gaze. The loft, and the upper half of the ladder, are shrouded in darkness.

“It’s not going anywhere,” Nicole says. “You’ve had a really big two days. Can I take you inside so you can rest? Please?”

Waverly nods gently, Nicole’s hands moving with her.

“Okay,” Nicole says. “We can look at it later, okay? Let’s turn those lights out and I’ll walk you in.”

“Okay,” Waverly whispers. Part of her still wants to climb into the loft and find the trunk, and a sliver of her feels guilty that Nicole has driven out here for nothing but to talk her down for the third time in two days. But another part, a stronger part, just wants to let Nicole take care of her. She can come back to this, she tells herself. She can think about this tomorrow.

She turns off the work light, hooks her fingers through the lantern handle, and clutches Nicole’s arm as they walk carefully out of the barn, the lantern’s modest light guiding their way.

* * *

 

Gus and Curtis’s bedroom light is off when they enter the house quietly through the back door and slip upstairs to Waverly’s room.

It’s only the third time Nicole has been here, but having a purpose—making sure Waverly is okay—gives her something to focus on and puts her almost at ease. She grabs a large, soft t-shirt (LITTLE DEVILS DANCE CAMP ’11, it says) off the bed and hands it to Waverly.

“Here,” she says quietly. “Let’s get you into your jammies and ready for bed, okay?”

Waverly pulls her chunky knit sweater off and stands there in a white camisole, smiling tiredly at Nicole. “You call them ‘jammies’?”

Nicole swallows, feeling heat creep into her face. Yes, she calls them jammies, embarrassingly. But also, she can see that Waverly’s not wearing a bra underneath her cami. She keeps her eyes up, looking slightly above Waverly’s head, and says, “Yup. Jammies. What do you call them?"

“I don’t know. Pajamas, I guess,” Waverly says, her voice quiet. “I like jammies better, though.” She takes the t-shirt from Nicole and turns around, pulling the cami off over her head. Nicole swallows again, looking at her bare back and the line of her vertebrae against her tan skin. She feels a little bit breathless.

Waverly pulls the t-shirt on and slips off her pants. “Let’s find you a toothbrush,” she says to Nicole.

“Oh, am I—?” Nicole stammers awkwardly.

“Oh, sorry,” Waverly says, crossing her arms and shifting so that one foot is on top of the other. She feels embarrassed and guilty all over again for asking too much of Nicole. “I just—do you want to spend the night? You can. If you want. You don’t have to, obviously.”

“No, I—yeah, I’ll stay over, if you don’t mind,” Nicole says. She hadn’t planned to, and she knows it’s probably not the wisest decision she’s ever made. But how can she say no?

“Will your parents mind?” Waverly asks. “Do you want to call them?”

“No,” Nicole says. “I doubt they’ve even noticed I’m gone.”

“Oh.” Waverly looks at her for a moment, then motions with her head toward the door. “Come on.”

Ten minutes later, the lights are off and their bodies are slowly gathering heat beneath the bedcovers while the wind howls outside. Nicole’s heart is swelling and stretching as if to envelope every bit of this moment in time and space: lying cozily in bed beside Waverly, who wants her here, who, perhaps, even needs her here.

Has she ever been needed like this?

Waverly, for her part, has an urge to slip her arm around Nicole’s waist and curl into her side like she did last night, to feel protected and cared for. But her conversation with Chrissy comes to mind suddenly, and guilt settles in her gut once again.

“Nicole?”

Nicole, lying on her back, turns her head to look at Waverly, although she can see only a vague outline of her face in the dark. “Yeah?”

She feels Waverly roll onto her stomach, and her elbow bumps Nicole’s shoulder as she slides her arms beneath her pillow.

“I’m sorry I freaked out on you so much today.”

Nicole sighs quietly, and then she rolls onto her side so that their faces are only inches apart in the darkness. “You don’t have to be sorry,” she whispers. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Waverly’s nose prickles and feels hot. Worried she might cry, she stays quiet.

“How are you feeling now?” Nicole asks.

She feels Waverly shrug, and then hears her sniffle. “Oh, Waverly.”

Waverly laughs quietly in an effort to reassure Nicole and trick the tears into stopping. “Sorry. Always crying.”

The blankets rustle, and then Nicole’s hand is against her back, moving lightly, comfortingly, over her shirt.

“Is this okay?” Nicole whispers.

“Mmm,” Waverly murmurs, and her eyelids flutter closed almost involuntarily. “Feels nice.”

It feels _so_ nice. No one has ever really touched her like this, and she shivers with pleasure as Nicole’s fingertips move up and down, drawing nonsensical pictures against her. Her shoulders loosen, and her body relaxes against the bed. “Mmm,” she sighs again.

“Do you have a busy week ahead?” Nicole hopes the question will get Waverly’s mind off her worries. And maybe it’ll get Nicole’s mind off her racing heart and the heat quickly spreading throughout her body.

“Kinda,” Waverly murmurs. “Basketball game on Tuesday. Practice other days. You coming to the game?”

“Yeah,” Nicole says. "Gotta take pictures for the paper.”

“Oh, right,” Waverly says, her voice barely above a whisper as Nicole brushes the hair off her back and trails her fingertips across her shoulders. Waverly tries to focus, but she feels so warm and comfortable, as if her whole body is heating up at Nicole’s touch.

“We liked your article on us. In the paper.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re a good reporter,” she murmurs, and Nicole laughs a gentle breath through her nose.

“Thanks.”

“Will you come over and look through the trunk with me?” Waverly doesn’t know if there will be anything there about the Curse, but somehow none of that matters right now. She can’t imagine doing it without Nicole.

“Of course. I have to work Wednesday, but otherwise I’m free after school.”

Waverly turns her face into the pillow and gathers her hair in a fist, moving it to the top of her head. Nicole takes the hint, wordlessly moving her fingers to the back of Waverly’s neck. She strokes the fine, downy hair there, scratching lightly with her fingernails along Waverly’s hairline, then slipping her fingers into her smooth hair to scratch at her scalp.

Waverly lets out a quiet half-moan, half-sigh, and a wave of arousal courses suddenly through Nicole’s body, starting in her chest and trickling down to settle heavily between her legs, taking her breath away. She opens her mouth to breathe and, with eyes closed and legs squeezed together, she tries to calm her racing heart.

After a few seconds, she pulls her hand away gently. It doesn’t feel right to touch Waverly when she’s aroused like this. It feels like she’s taking advantage.

Waverly sighs and turns onto her side, propping her head on her hand to look down at Nicole. “Nicole.”

“Yeah?” Nicole thinks there is no sound more beautiful than the sound of her name on Waverly Earp’s lips. She lies on her back, gazing at Waverly’s face. Her eyes have adjusted now, and she can see her worried eyes and the way she bites her lip.

“I was just thinking about what you told me in the car today,” Waverly begins, and Nicole’s heart gives a great thump in her chest. “And it made me think about what Champ said.”

“Oh.” Nicole drops her eyes. She definitely doesn’t want to talk about Champ. The sound of _his_ name in Waverly’s mouth is exactly the worst.

“I just want to apologize again,” Waverly says quickly. “It was such a thoughtless, rude thing for him to say, and I’m so sorry.”

“Well,” Nicole says, but then she doesn’t know how to continue.

“Are you… okay?” Waverly asks timidly.

Nicole looks at her worried face. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she says. “I promise. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything,” Nicole says, and she thinks she means it. She would tell Waverly anything.

“Does anyone else know?”

“Jeremy knows. He’s the only one.”

“Not your parents?”

“No,” Nicole says. “Although I sort of think they know and they’re just waiting for me to tell them. They’re kind of obnoxious about it.”

“Would they care?” Waverly asks.

“Nah.” Nicole shakes her head against the pillow. “I just… They act like they have a right to know everything about me. I mean, I know they’re my parents and all, but most of the time they’re too busy to actually spend any time with me. Then they act like I ought to tell them everything about my life, but they only want to hear certain things. Like when I told them about the police academy, they weren’t interested in that. Only when it fits their idea of who I am or who I should be.”

When she stops talking, she realizes she’s never said any of this out loud before, and she feels a bit sheepish. Complaining just isn’t something she does, and Waverly has enough on her mind already. But it does feel good to vent some of it.

“That sounds awful,” Waverly says. “I’m sorry.”

Nicole shrugs. “It’s fine.”

“I sort of feel like that, sometimes. I try really hard to be, like, ‘good,’ for Gus and Curtis’s sake,” Waverly says. “Mostly Gus’s.”

“What’s ‘good’?” Nicole asks.

Now it’s Waverly’s turn to shrug. “You know. Cheerleader, good grades. Minimal partying and drinking. _One_ boyfriend. I just try to be… _not_ Wynonna. Not a burden or anything.” She groans. “Oh, gosh, that didn’t come out right.”

“Sounds like a lot of pressure,” Nicole says.

“It’s not so bad.”

“I can’t imagine you being a burden.”

Waverly is relieved to hear this, although she suspects that Nicole is just saying it to be nice. Her heart does that thing again, where she can feel it reaching toward Nicole. She shifts so that her head is on Nicole’s shoulder, her arms curled in the warm space between them.

“Wynonna’s not a burden to me,” Waverly clarifies, after a moment. “She’s my sister.”

“I know,” Nicole whispers.

Waverly’s head is warm and heavy on her shoulder, her hair soft where her head presses against Nicole’s jaw. She wonders if Waverly can feel her heart beating through her chest.

Nicole smells like coconut-scented shampoo and lotion and something else, something Waverly can’t name. She uncurls her arm from its space in between them, placing her hand on Nicole, just above her belly button. “Elbow’s getting sore,” she whispers, and Nicole just makes a soft, sleepy noise in response.

Before she falls asleep, it occurs to Waverly that _this—_ this feeling of closeness and safety and peace—is why she invited Nicole over tonight.

* * *

 

They’re up early Monday morning.

“You want breakfast?” Waverly asks groggily, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

“I would, but I’ve gotta get home to change and shower before school,” Nicole faces the window as she dresses in yesterday’s clothes. “Plus my car is, like, half a mile down the road.”

“Oh,” Waverly says, embarrassed. “Right. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. I’m a fast runner.” Nicole flashes her a smile.

Waverly hopes they’ll be able to slip out the back door, but Gus is up, and she’s tipped off by the sound of two separate sets of feet coming down the stairs.

“Waverly?” she calls from the kitchen. “Is someone with you? Better not be Champ.”

Waverly looks at Nicole, her face scrunched apologetically.

“It’s just Nicole, Aunt Gus,” she says, leading the way into the kitchen. Gus is at the table with a mug of coffee and the newspaper, as usual. “She came over last night.”

Gus looks up, giving them a closed-lipped smile. “How are you, Nicole?”

“Fine, thanks. I’m sorry to drop in without letting you know.”

“A sleepover on a school night,” Gus says, sounding mildly disapproving. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.” Waverly kisses Gus on the cheek and makes her way to the cabinet for a mug.

Gus frowns. “I didn’t see a car out there.”

“Oh, uh…” Nicole scrambles to think of an excuse, finally deciding on partial truth. “I parked just down the road. Didn’t want to take up space on your drive.”

“It’s a long drive,” Gus says, confused. “Plenty of room.”

“Nicole’s just polite like that.” Waverly fills a kettle from the tap without looking at either of them.

“Well, next time you be sure to pull on up,” Gus tells Nicole.

“Okay. Thanks, Mrs. McCready,” Nicole says. “I hate to run, but I’ve gotta stop at home before I head to school, so I’d better get going.”

“Let me walk you to your car,” Gus says, folding her newspaper and tossing it onto the center of the table. She picks up her mug and stands. “And it’s Gus, honey.”

“Oh, you don’t have to walk me out,” Nicole says.

“Nonsense, I want to.”

“I’ll come with you,” Waverly offers, but Gus interrupts firmly.

“You’re making tea, and you need to get ready for school. Nicole and I will be fine.”

*****

Nicole’s immediate fear is that Gus wants to get her alone so that she can scold her for spending the night at her house without her knowledge or approval. Truth be told, she’s a little bit afraid of the woman, especially after hearing her gripe about Wynonna the first time she visited.

But Gus places a hand briefly on the back of Nicole’s shoulder as they make their way down the front steps and sips from her mug as they walk through the yard, seemingly in no hurry to begin conversation.

Once they’re out on the road, she says, “Nicole, I’ve got a small favor to ask of you, if you don’t mind.”

This is the last thing Nicole was expecting. Surprised, she looks down at Gus, who stands a few inches shorter than she. “Oh,” she says. “Okay, sure. What can I do?”

“I’m a little worried about Waverly,” Gus says. “I think she’s got a lot on her plate right now. I’ve said this before to Chrissy Nedley, and now I’ll say it to you: Waverly needs good people in her life.”

Nicole waits, not sure how to respond to this, but Gus seems to be thinking about how to continue.

“She’s lost a lot of people,” Gus says eventually. “You probably know that by now. I guess all I’m askin’ is that you be good to her.”

They walk in silence for a few seconds. This moment, and Nicole’s answer, feel important. She wonders whether Gus would be saying these things to her if she knew how Nicole felt about Waverly. “Of course, Mrs. McCready,” she says, trying to put all of her feelings into those few words. “She’s my friend.”

The answer feels inadequate but honest. She opens her mouth to ask whether Gus has tried talking to Waverly, or asked her about what’s on her mind, but then she decides it’s not her place. The last thing she wants is to sound critical.

Gus says simply, “Thank you,” and they walk the rest of the way to Nicole’s car in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, friends. I'm finding as I get deeper into this story that it progresses better if I let each chapter marinate for a while, adding and tweaking things every day (and sometimes rewriting it completely) before posting. Some chapters come a lot faster than others. This was one that needed some time. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I so, so appreciate those of you who take the time to share your thoughts with me. 
> 
> Also, I'm on Twitter! Hit me up if you feel like it. @prayingitsgay
> 
> <3 TeaPet


	9. In which there is a celebration involving cake

By four o’clock the gray light is already beginning to fade from the sky, and the house is blessedly empty, just the way Nicole likes it. She’s in the den after school with a heavy book lying open on the arm of the couch, and the warm, furry ball of Calamity Jane has even deigned to take up residence on her lap.

Jeremy took the liberty of checking the book out to her account yesterday—a graphic memoir by Tillie Walden, titled _Spinning—_ and the deeper into it she reads, the more strongly Tillie reminds her of Waverly.

She fishes her phone out from between the couch cushions and snaps a picture of one of the comic panels. _You have to read this book_ , she types. _It’s about a girl who does competitive synchronized figure skating._

She sends the text to Waverly and then considers what to say next, how to express the way the character’s gentle heart and deep, internal ache are so similar to what she sees in Waverly. But she’s not quite sure how to put the feeling into words, and she doesn’t want to seem presumptuous, as if she knows everything about her.

So she just says, _She kind of reminds me of you,_ and decides to leave it at that. Maybe by the time she finishes the book, she’ll be able to articulate it.

The doorbell rings then, startling her. Her heart gives a single, hard thump, and her mind jumps to Waverly; could it be her? But no, she should be at cheerleading practice.

“Shit.”

Calamity Jane _mrowls_ , leaping off of her as Nicole uncrosses her legs, throws the blanket off her lap and grabs her pants off the floor. Yanking them on, she hurries to the front hall and opens the door.

Jeremy is standing there, smiling widely through the screen with two full, brown-paper grocery bags dangling from his fingertips. Nicole deflates the tiniest bit in disappointment, even though she’d known it couldn’t possibly be Waverly.

“We don’t give money; we don’t like charities; we don’t buy raffle tickets,” she jokes flatly, quoting _Matilda_ as she goes to close the door in his face.

“Very funny, sis.” Jeremy elbows his way into the front hall and sets the bags on the floor. Nicole immediately peers into them.

“What’s going on?” she asks suspiciously. She’s slightly annoyed at the mid-book interruption and wonders if Jeremy at least had the decency to bring her snacks.

She’s also truly puzzled. She and Jeremy aren’t the type of friends who show up out of the blue at one another’s houses. Jeremy’s parents aren’t super strict, but they’re not fans of spontaneity; they prefer to know his plans in advance.

“So, I was thinking about your news,” Jeremy says.

“My news?” Nicole runs a hand through her hair, scratching at the top of her scalp. “You mean, the thing I told you in the craft closet?”

Jeremy grins. “Yes. The closet news.”

“What about it?”

“You have to promise not to hate me for this.”

Nicole crosses her arms. “You know I can’t promise that.”

“I brought booze,” Jeremy announces.

“Booze? Where did you get booze?” This just keeps getting stranger. If Jeremy has a fake ID, Nicole would definitely know about it. And she can’t imagine he would filch alcohol from his parents. “Also, I hate the word ‘booze,’” she adds as an afterthought.

“Fine,” Jeremy says, squatting to rummage around in one of the grocery bags. He produces a heavy package of flour, which he thunks onto the floor before pulling out two bottles of sloshing liquid. “I have—wait, are your parents here?”

“No. Getting dinner in the city with friends.”

“Oh, thank god. Should’ve asked that first. Anyway, to be more specific,” Jeremy says, squinting at the labels on the bottles, “I have three quarters of a bottle of Korbel—which apparently is brandy?—plus half a bottle of vodka.”

Nicole squats beside him, sticking a hand in. “And butterscotch Schnapps?” She pulls out another half-full bottle. “I’m sorry, is this all for the two of us? And do you even drink?”

“I’ve been known to imbibe now and then,” Jeremy says indignantly. Nicole cocks a skeptical eyebrow.

“Okay, no, I’m not known for that. But there’s no better night to start my drinking career,” Jeremy says.

“What, a Monday?”

“Well… yes, but also: your coming-out partyyyy!” Bottles held above his head, Jeremy stands so that he can do a happy dance in Nicole’s front hall, wiggling his knees together and then shaking his shoulders back and forth, not particularly gracefully.

Nicole stares at him, her mouth open. “My what?” A string of questions flashes through her mind: Has Jeremy told other people? Are other people coming? Does he expect her to come out to the world at large now, start wearing rainbows to school?

“Are other people coming?” she manages to ask.

“No. It’s just me,” Jeremy says. “I’m sorry. Is this too much? Am I making it weird? I’m just really excited.”

“Oh, my god.” Nicole pulls her lips into her mouth, trying not to smile. The situation is rather mortifying, but for a second, amazingly, she worries she might burst into tears in front of Jeremy. Although she’d never admit it to him, she’s touched and comforted by his excitement.

“Listen,” Jeremy says. “I brought cake ingredients. And food coloring, so we can make it rainbow.”

“Rainbow?”

“Yeah, rainbow. As in gay?” Jeremy looks at Nicole like, _hello._

Nicole laughs, then sobers up quickly, pointing a finger in warning. “I’m not getting drunk with you.”

“Who says we have to get drunk?” Jeremy asks, and Nicole looks pointedly at the bottles of liquor. “Just let me make you one celebratory drink. If you want.”

“Fine,” Nicole says reluctantly, apprehensive but secretly pleased at the prospect. “But did you bring stuff, like, to mix it with? I’m not drinking straight liquor.”

“Ah, shoot,” Jeremy says, his shoulders slumping. “I knew I would forget something.”

Nicole grins and rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Come on, let’s look in the kitchen.” She picks up a grocery bag and gestures for Jeremy to follow.

*****

Nicole suspects her parents won’t really care that she’s drinking as long as she’s safe at home. It’s not as though they’ve ever forbidden it, although this may be because Nicole has never in her life been inclined to break any rules or otherwise exhibited any “wild child” behavior.

Her parents also completely, and conveniently, approve of Jeremy as an influence. Keeping this entire night a secret should be, so to speak, a piece of cake.

The kitchen is a bit cluttered, so as Jeremy scrounges around the pantry, Nicole shelves dishes and clears as much space as she can on the limited countertop, stowing her mom’s French press and her dad’s beloved griddle—used to make pancakes that morning, judging by the crumbs—in the cupboard with the pots and pans.  

“How come you didn’t invite Robin?” she wonders.

“Ah-ha!” Jeremy emerges triumphantly from the pantry, an old, dented box of cheap apple cider packets in hand. “Got any mugs?”

She finds him two. “So, Robin? Is everything okay with you guys?”

“Oh, yeah! Everything’s going really well, actually,” Jeremy says as he rips open two packets and dumps the powder into the mugs, producing small puffs of apple-scented dust. He glances up at Nicole, grinning shyly. “We’re kind of official now, actually. I just didn’t know whether you’d want me to tell him or not, about you. It wasn’t my news to tell.”

“You can tell him,” Nicole says, surprising herself with how quickly she answers. But she’s already told two people—arguably the two most important—so why not three? And she trusts Robin. “And congratulations on being official! That’s really great, Jer.”

It hits her then that she’s actually _doing_ it. She’s coming out. She’s always assumed that she would just wait until after high school, until she got out of Purgatory and met some athletic police academy student; or, if she ends up at university, a cute, nerdy classmate who wears glasses and likes books even more than she does.

Coming out is thrilling and frightening at the same time. But as she watches Jeremy place both mugs, now filled with water, in the microwave, she realizes that having him on her side makes it much less scary. Waverly, too; they may be new friends, but she’s safe with her. She’s two for two right now, and that feels really good.

“You sure?” Jeremy asks. “You don’t want to tell him yourself?”

“You can tell him,” Nicole repeats. Actually doing the telling might still be the scariest part of the whole thing. “Tell him now, if you want. Ask him over.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not?” She feels a surge of confidence, a desire to share this night with more people.

“You sure know how to make a guy happy,” Jeremy says, grinning. “Well, not like… You know what I mean. Anyway, I’m sure he’d love to join us. He was super confused when I asked him to snag some of his parents’ liquor for me but wouldn’t tell him why.”

“Oh, lord. I was wondering where you got this.”

“His parents have a fully stocked wet bar in their basement,” Jeremy reassures her. “Trust me, they won’t even miss it.”

*****

When Nicole was in third grade, she went to a birthday party for her classmate, Iris. Everyone in the class was invited to eat cake and play silly yard games at Iris’s house, and as a grand finale her dad brought out boxes filled with “flour bombs.” He must have stayed up all night scooping flour into the napkins, which were carefully tied with string so that they looked like dozens upon dozens of upside down Tootsie Roll Pops.

The kids had a heyday whipping bombs at one another, which were too soft to hurt but exploded in big, delightful clouds upon contact, leaving dusty splatters on clothing and hair and skin.

Right now, the kitchen reminds Nicole a little bit of that party. Jeremy and Robin have found a recipe for white cake in one of Nicole’s mom’s old cookbooks and measured out the flour, somehow managing to leave dusty trails across the kitchen table and even the floor.

Now Robin is standing at the table, attempting to mash together a stick of cold butter and a cup of sugar with a fork, while Jeremy is puzzling over an egg that he’s cracked into a bowl. “How in the hell am I supposed to get this yolk out of here?” he asks, chasing the slippery yellow with a spoon.

Nicole is in charge of playing music from her phone, which leaves her plenty of time to enjoy her drink. Butterscotch Schnapps, it turns out, is syrupy sweet and tastes like dessert, even when mixed with crappy powdered cider. It’s left a warm feeling spreading pleasantly through her belly. She tips the mug back to get the last sip.

“Can I make you another?” Robin asks, pointing at her mug as he moves his shoulders to the music.

(When he’d walked into the house, he’d surprised Nicole by wrapping her in a firm hug. “Congratulations! I’m so excited for you.” How strange it felt to be congratulated.)

“I don’t know if I can drink another,” Nicole says. “They’re awfully sweet.”

“Time to switch to vodka? Or maybe brandy?” Jeremy asks from his place at the counter.

There’s nothing to mix it with, so Robin convinces them to do one— _one!—_ shot together. They rummage around the kitchen some more and manage to find a single shot glass, so dusty it needs to be washed first.

“You first, Nicole,” Jeremy says, sliding the glass across the table to her.

“No way, I’m not going first.” She sets it back in front of him with a sharp clunk.

“It’s your party,” he says, flicking it at her.

“But this whole thing was your idea,” Nicole argues.

“Ah, but the shots were Robin’s idea,” Jeremy says with his finger in the air. “So Robin, you go first.” He holds the empty shot glass out to Robin, who shrugs and takes it between his fingers.

“Well, if you insist,” he says. “Vodka or brandy?”

“Your choice.” Jeremy nudges both bottles toward him. They’ve momentarily abandoned their cake-making and are seated at the circular table, the bottles of liquor in the center.

“I’ll go with brandy. Since I’m a badass.”

“Aw yeah, that’s my babe,” Jeremy says. He grabs the bottle before Robin can reach it and unscrews the top, pouring the amber liquid carefully into the shot glass.

“I cannot believe we’re doing this on a Monday night.” Nicole shakes her head and drops her forehead into her palm. “This is a terrible idea. I was just minding my own business, reading a book...”

“Dude, relax,” Jeremy says, grabbing her shoulder. “We’re not gonna get crazy.”

“How do you know?” she exclaims. “I’ve never even had anything to drink before! Anything could happen!”

“As long as you stay hydrated, you’ll be fine,” Jeremy says reassuringly.

Nicole just groans, certain that this is a bad idea. Her heart is thumping. She knows that many of her classmates drink, and probably nothing truly bad will happen, but she’s never even been buzzed before, let alone drunk. The not-knowing makes her nervous. What will it feel like? What will she say or do? Will she still feel like herself?

She keeps glancing toward the door, as if her parents might return at any moment, even though she knows they won’t be home until at least nine.

“To the lovely Nicole,” Robin announces grandly, and inexplicably in a bad British accent, as he lifts the tiny glass.

“To Nicole!” Jeremy repeats, raising his hand even though he’s not holding a drink.

“To being gay,” Nicole says quietly. The word catches in her throat, as if she can’t quite pronounce it, but she forces it out and follows it with a nervous, uncertain smile.

“To being queer as fuck,” Robin says loudly.

“To being the only homosexuals in Pur-gay-tory!” Jeremy shouts, and Nicole feels tears jump to her eyes, prickling at the corners. She laughs shakily, trying to chase them away. This is the first time she’s ever belonged to something in this way. She has a crazy urge to grab Jeremy’s and Robin’s hands, to pull them into a group hug and cry and thank them. She wonders why it took her so long to tell them.

She wishes Waverly were here.

She watches Robin take the shot in a single swallow, followed by Jeremy, who chooses vodka. He grimaces as it goes down.

“All right, Nicole. You’re up. Choose your poison.” Jeremy plunks the empty shot glass in front of her, and she picks it up, rolling it back and forth in her fingers, remembering the sharp, flat taste of the lukewarm vodka at Rachel’s bonfire.

“Brandy, I guess,” she says, although she has no idea how it’ll taste. Robin and Jeremy cheer ridiculously.

Jeremy pours the shot, dribbling liquor from the bottle until it nearly reaches the lip of the glass.

She stares at it. “There’s no way I can get all of that in my mouth.”

“That’s what she said!” Robin and Jeremy scream in unison, and then they laugh uproariously at their shared genius. Nicole rolls her eyes.

“Can I just sip it?”

“And prolong the agony?” Jeremy leans toward her, palms flat on the table. “Just suck it down, girlfriend.”

“You’re not helping.”

The smell of the brandy makes her nose burn as she carefully raises the glass to her lips, trying not to spill any. The corners of her mouth turn down, but she tips the liquid in, eyes squeezed shut in disgust, managing about half the glass at once.

“Swallow, swallow!” Jeremy urges her as Robin snickers at his elbow.

She’s just holding the liquor at the back of her tongue, her face scrunched up in revulsion. Eventually, she swallows and shudders, feeling the Korbel burn the back of her throat and the top of her chest as it goes down. “Oh, my god,” she rasps. “Ow.”

“One more sip,” Robin says. “Do it fast.”

Nicole takes a deep breath and tips the rest of the shot into her mouth. It goes down faster this time, but not easier.

Jeremy and Robin cheer again and raise their hands for high fives. When she slaps his palm, Jeremy holds on and pulls her against himself for a side-hug, squeezing her shoulders tight and touching his head to hers.

Waves of alcohol warmth course down her legs. Her grin is so wide it hurts.

* * *

 

Waverly drags her feet to the locker room after practice at half past five, more tired than usual, although their workout hadn’t been tough; they’d only fine-tuned their new routine for the first basketball game. But she’s been fielding questions all day from what feels like every person in school. _How could she and Champ have been voted homecoming king and queen on Saturday, but be over by Monday?!_

Avoiding someone also tends to eat up a good deal of mental energy, and that’s what she’s been doing: avoiding Champ. In the parking lot, in the halls between classes, in the cafeteria… By the time the final bell rang, her entire body was a mess of anxious knots, and a headache had spider-webbed its way across the backs of her eyes.

She kicks off her tennis shoes and sits on the bench in front of her locker to check her phone. Nicole’s name on her screen sends an instant bolt of happiness through her body, taking a bit of the weight off her shoulders. She opens the texts.

 _You have to read this book_ . _It’s about a girl who does competitive synchronized figure skating._

_She kind of reminds me of you._

Waverly studies the photo of the two-page spread Nicole sent with it: a simple but lovely, pale blue, full-page drawing of an ice rink early in the morning, the back wall of the building a grid of square window panes, a curved ceiling enclosing the cavernous space. A girl skates slowly across the ice, her back to the reader.

 _It always felt good to be alone in such a big rink_ , the handwritten text on the next page reads. _And the best part was that all the other girls were getting ready in the locker room. No one could watch me._

Waverly hums quietly to herself, then closes the picture so she can read the rest of Nicole’s texts.

_You’ll never guess what’s happening at my house right now_

_A party_

_For me_

_A gay party_

_Jeremy says it’s a coming out party_

A delighted grin spreads across Waverly’s face, and she instantly feels envious, as though she’s missing out. She quickly types up a reply: _No way. Who is there and how do I get an invite?_

Nicole responds quickly: _Every gay person in Purgatory, aka me, Jeremy and Robin. Highly exclusive. Come over!_

“Who ya textin’?” Sonja smiles over her shoulder at Waverly as she spins her lock. She bounces her eyebrows up and down.

“Nicole,” Waverly says truthfully.

“Have you talked to Champ at all since the party?” Sonja asks, and Waverly feels a flash of mild anger.

“No,” she snaps. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Yikes. Sorry,” Sonja mutters, turning her back to Waverly just as Steph rounds the corner of the juniors’ bay of lockers.

“Ladies,” she says. “I almost forgot. We’re having a meeting about captain tryouts next week. If you can’t make it, I need you to arrange another time to meet with me. If you’re even _vaguely_ considering trying out for captain, you should be at this meeting.”

Waverly feels a swoop of anxiety in her stomach. Is it really almost time to start preparing for that? She takes the sheet of paper that Steph is passing around, folds it, and slips it into her backpack.

Tuning out the slamming lockers and running water and loud voices, she sinks back into the conversation with Nicole, asking only half jokingly, _Do I need to be gay to attend?_

Nicole: _Recommended ;) But not required_

Waverly can’t keep the grin from her face as they text rapidfire back and forth.

Waverly: _Should I wear rainbow?_

Nicole: _Absolutely you should_

Waverly: _I haven’t had dinner yet and I’m starving_

Nicole: _There is food in my kitchen. Also we’re making cake. Well, they are trying to make cake but idk if they know what they’re doing_

Waverly: _Cake!_ _I may be able to salvage the cake situation._

Nicole: _You are amazing. Are you coming for real pretty pleeease?_

All of the bad feelings from Waverly’s day, all the tension between her and Champ, the nagging thoughts about the trunk in the loft, the worries about Wynonna are being wrung out of her, leaving warmth and gratitude and excitement in their place. Nicole wants her there, at this thing, this important, momentous thing. She needs to get there ASAP.

 _Am I invited for real?_ she asks. _I don’t want to intrude._

 _You are hereby invited to join me for everything ever, from here on out until the end of time,_ Nicole says. _I mean that most sincerely. Please PLEASE say you’ll come Waverly please_

Waverly laughs quietly and, full of sudden energy, stands and pulls off her clothes to change.

“What’s the rush?” Chrissy asks. She’s rolling deodorant under her arms, one eyebrow quirked at Waverly.

“Can you drop me at Nicole’s on the way home?” Waverly asks, pulling her school clothes—a  simple tee and sweatshirt—back on, glad that she hardly broke a sweat in practice.

Chrissy shrugs a shoulder. “Sure. What are you gonna do?”

“Just hang out.”

She doesn’t mean to be short with Chrissy, but today might’ve been a bit less stressful if she could have trusted Chrissy with everything Curtis had revealed yesterday. She hates being annoyed with her, but right now she just can’t help it. The effort it takes to keep things from Chrissy puts an extra weight on her shoulders.

Her phone buzzes again as she carries it to the row of grubby sinks and mirrors against the wall. Her ponytail is loose; she pulls the elastic out and runs a hand through her hair as she reads Nicole’s text.

_Henry brought alcohol. Jerky. JEREMY. Damn autocorrect. I promise I’m not that drunk_

Waverly giggles. She holds the phone between her thighs as she weaves a loose braid into her hair, tying off the end and tucking the flyaways behind her ears before replying, _Thought you didn’t drink! Do I need to keep an eye on you? Are J and R being bad influences?_

 _Orally,_ Nicole texts. _I MEAN_ _TOTALLY. Duck._

Waverly just replies, _You’re adorable._

* * *

 

“Waverly’s coming over,” Nicole announces to the kitchen at large. “She says she can salvage the cake.”

Robin gasps and squeaks, “Yay! Waves! But wait, what do you mean, ‘salvage the cake’?”

“Yeah, is our baking not good enough for you?” Jeremy asks. “Oops, I need baking _powder,_ not _soda._ ” He cackles and quickly dumps the tablespoon of baking soda back into its box.

“Not nearly,” Nicole says good-naturedly. She’s elated that Waverly’s coming over, and she can’t stop re-reading the last text she sent as her leg bounces with anticipation and impatience under the table. _You’re adorable. You’re adorable. You’re adorable. You’re adorable._

A new text comes through. _Need me to bring anything?_

 _Just yourself_ , Nicole types automatically. Then she adds, _And maybe some Coke?_

_Done. What’s your address?_

Nicole sends it.

“Guys,” she says loudly. “She’s bringing Coke.”

“As in cocaine, or Coca-Cola?” asks Robin.

“The second one. For drinks.”

“Damn,” Jeremy says, and they all laugh.

* * *

 

When Nicole swings open the door, Waverly’s stomach flutters at the sight of her: red hair falling around her shoulders; big, toothy grin on her face; dimple appearing in full force on her pinker-than-usual left cheek. She likes Nicole so much that just looking at her makes everything feel better.

As Waverly smiles up at her, Nicole reaches a hand out to pull her inside and into a hug. She straightens up with an exaggerated grunt, lifting Waverly and turning side to side so that Waverly’s feet sway and knock against Nicole’s shins and she laughs as she hangs on.

“You’re here! I missed you so much!” Nicole sounds so genuinely excited that Waverly laughs again as Nicole sets her down.

“Like I would miss this!” she says, holding onto Nicole’s hands, rubbing the backs with her thumbs. “Are you really drunk?” she mouths at her, her face wearing an expression of such comical disbelief that Nicole actually laughs.

“Nooooo,” she says. “I only had two drinks, and they were tiny, so tiny.”

“She had three,” Robin shouts from the kitchen. “Two were tiny because they were in shot glasses.”

Waverly looks open-mouthed at Nicole, who is smiling innocently and openly at her, and feels her heart swell. She wants to squeeze her to death. “Ahhh,” she says, looping her arm through Nicole’s as they walk into the kitchen. “I see. Tiny drinks.”

“The tiniest,” Nicole says happily.

“Did I mention you’re the cutest thing ever?” Waverly asks, and Nicole’s heart almost bursts in her chest.

“Here,” Jeremy hands Nicole a tall glass of water. “Have this very large drink.”

“Well, that’s boring,” Nicole says, but she takes the glass agreeably and gulps some down as Waverly pats her on the back.

“Waves!” Robin gives Waverly a hug, holding his flour-covered hands away from her clothing. “I hear you’re here to supervise.”

“Um, yeah… What do we have here?” Waverly picks up a butter- and sugar-covered fork and pokes at the pale lumps in the mixing bowl, amused. “Were you trying to beat this with a fork?”

“Yes? But the butter is so hard,” Robin whines. “Should I put it in the microwave?”

Waverly sighs. “Oh, boy.”

*****

By the time Waverly has located a proper set of beaters and prepared the batter, it’s nearing seven o’clock and they’ve realized they have only two circular cake pans.

“Why didn’t I think this through?” Jeremy wails, his top half collapsing across the kitchen table in despair while Robin rubs his shoulders.

“Oh, Jeremy, it’s okay. We can make a two-color cake,” Waverly offers, dipping a pretzel into a large container of homemade hummus.

“Two colors does not a rainbow make,” Jeremy says sadly.

Nicole gasps, flinging soap bubbles as she abandons the dishes at the sink to bound across the kitchen to Waverly. “I know!” she says excitedly. “We can do tie-dye!”

“Tie-dye?” Waverly asks, and Robin says, “I’m listening.”

Jeremy asks, “How do we do that?”

Nicole shrugs, says, “I don’t know,” and Jeremy throws his hands up in exasperation.

Waverly smiles at her, eyes squinting in amusement, and squeezes Nicole’s arm to reassure her. “It’s a good idea,” she says. “I think I know how we can do it. Or something like it.”

“Yeah? You’re so good at this stuff,” Nicole gushes, gazing at Waverly in admiration. “How do you know how to do all of this?”

“I’ve just done it before, is all.”

“You’ve tie-dyed a cake before?” Jeremy asks in awe.

“Well, not _that_ exactly. But look, if we divide the batter into different bowls and color each one, then sort of layer them on top of each other, it’ll look all swirly. Yeah? Do you have some bowls?” She touches Nicole’s damp hand.

“Yes!” Nicole dries her hands on a towel and pulls a stack of bowls from a cupboard. They all crowd around as Waverly pours an even amount of batter into each, then pulls the pointy top off the tiny bottle of blue. She squeezes a few drops into one of the bowls of batter. It makes a deep navy spot, almost black, that swirls into bright cobalt when she stirs.

Once they have a bowl of each color, they all grab one and pour, the bowls clacking as they laugh and compete for space over the tin. They fill both tins with all six colors.

“It’s soooo pretty,” Nicole says, gazing at the gooey, colorful batter.

Scooping a bit of green batter from the side of a bowl with a fingertip, Waverly touches the tip of Nicole’s nose. “Not as pretty as you,” she says, and Nicole feels her already warm face blush as she smiles and wipes it off.

*****

“We have time for one more drink, right?” Jeremy asks once the cake is in the oven and they’ve all sunk into chairs at the table, reaching for the chips and hummus and grapes Nicole set out.

“You guys go ahead,” Robin says. “I’m driving us home.” He’s only had the one drink from a couple of hours ago.

“The Coke!” Nicole remembers, looking at Waverly. “Did you bring any?”

Waverly goes to fetch it from her bag, and when she steps away Jeremy widens his eyes and smiles at Nicole, who pretends not to see him and grabs three cups instead.

“This is my _last_ drink,” Nicole says as Waverly returns and screws the top off a bottle, which hisses.

Nicole holds her hand out for the bottle, but Waverly says, “I’ll pour. You guys just sit back and… be gay.”

Everyone laughs, but Waverly only watches Nicole, whose eyes meet hers and seem to sparkle. She pours Nicole and Jeremy each a very modest shot of brandy, fills the cups halfway with soda, and slides them across the table.

“Not having one?” Robin asks her.

“Nah. Gus’d kill me if she knew I was drinking on a school night. She was already reluctant to let me go out after practice.”

“Yeahhhh… My parents won’t be too happy, either,” Jeremy says. “About the drinking. Hoping to sneak straight up to bed when I get home.”

“Mine won’t care.” Robin shrugs casually.

Waverly taps Nicole’s hand where it rests on the table. “Do your parents know we’re here?”

“Nope, so I’d better finish cleaning up before they get home.”

Nicole’s eyes move to Waverly’s finger as it traces the thin bones on the back of Nicole's hand. She holds back a shiver and silently wills Waverly not to stop, feeling her heart gallop. She takes a gulp of her drink (much better with Coca-Cola).

She wants to turn her hand over and intertwine her fingers with Waverly’s... so she does. She feels brave enough to do almost anything.

Waverly looks at their hands, wiggles her fingers so that their palms are touching completely, fingers locked tightly, and squeezes. Nicole squeezes back. She wrinkles her nose and smiles at Waverly, leaning over to bump her shoulder, and Waverly scoots her chair closer.

“So, can I ask a question?” Waverly asks, and Nicole can't wait to hear it. “Did you just come out to Jeremy recently?”

Nicole nods. “Yeah. Actually, the same day I came out to you.”

“Oh!” Waverly says. She’d assumed that Jeremy had known for a long time. Nicole just seems so confident; it’s hard for Waverly to imagine her carrying such a big secret around for long. She has all kinds of new questions for Nicole, but she’d rather wait until they’re alone.

“Get this: She came out to me _in a closet_ ,” Jeremy says. Nicole wishes she had something to throw at him, but she laughs along with him and Robin. Waverly just looks up at her, smiling, and leans her head against Nicole’s shoulder.

“So Jeremy, when did _you_ come out to Nicole?” Waverly asks. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Not at all,” Jeremy says. “It was, what, two years ago, Nicole?”

“Yeah, something like that. But I think I knew before that. I’d heard it at school or something. But then you mentioned it all casually when we were working one day.”

“I was actually really nervous,” Jeremy says.

“Did _you_ know at that point that _you_ were gay?” Robin asks Nicole.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve known for a long time. Like, years.”

“I didn’t figure it out ’til high school,” Robin says. “Even dated a couple girls my freshman year.”

“I think in the big scheme of things, that’s still pretty early,” Jeremy says. “And anyway, everyone’s different. Some people don’t realize until later.”

Waverly mostly listens as the other three talk about when and how they first had an inkling that they might not be straight. She wants to know every little detail about Nicole's experience. The conversation is really eye-opening. What did she think, that all gay people knew, for as long as they could remember, that they were gay? She feels a bit foolish.

When the oven timer beeps, she extracts her hand from Nicole’s and checks the cakes. They’ve risen beautifully, and everyone hurries over to admire the colors. Waverly sticks a toothpick in the centers and pronounces them done.

*****

They clean the kitchen, and Jeremy and Robin are out the door with half the cake (unfrosted, because Jeremy forgot to bring frosting ingredients) when Nicole’s mom calls to let her know they’ll be home in half an hour. Waverly texts Gus to pick her up, and then she remembers the photo Nicole sent her earlier. “Hey, what was that book you were telling me about?”

“Oh! _Spinning._ I’ll show you.”

In the den, after Waverly coos over Calamity Jane, and Calamity rubs herself repeatedly against Waverly’s legs, they sit side by side on the couch and Nicole hands Waverly the book. She reads the summary on the inside of the cover.

Nicole still feels mildly buzzed, although the uninhibited feeling from before has mostly passed. She watches Waverly’s profile as she flips through the first few pages. She is so beautiful. She wants to reach out and touch her braid, but she doesn’t.

Sitting so close that their legs touch, Nicole feels like she might die from wanting Waverly, from wishing that Waverly felt the same way about her. “She reminds me of you,” she says quietly, trying to distract herself from her thoughts.

Waverly points to blond-haired Tillie and looks questioning at Nicole, who nods. “How come?” Waverly asks.

Nicole thinks. “She’s thoughtful like you. And talented. She puts a lot of pressure on herself.”

Waverly looks at Nicole for a second without saying anything. She scoots backward to settle against the couch cushions and flips another page, taking her time as she looks at the art.

Pressure. She guesses she does pressure herself: to be good at cheerleading, to be “normal,” to stay out of trouble. Or maybe it’s Gus who pressures her. For the most part, though, she likes doing and being those things, so is it so wrong to push herself? She wants to ask Nicole, but she’s tired and no solid question forms in her mind, so she just sits with her thoughts instead. She wonders what other observations Nicole has made about her, if any.

She flips ahead in the book, pausing on a panel that shows Tillie kissing a girl with light brown skin and dark hair. They’re young and the kiss is simple, their closed lips touching, their eyes closed, but Waverly stares at the picture, becoming aware of her heartbeat as it gets faster and harder.

Her eyes move from the page to Nicole, and she’s surprised to see Nicole watching her carefully. She closes the book suddenly. “Can I borrow it?”

It’s a library book, and Nicole hasn’t finished it yet, but she says yes, of course, and Waverly stands, says, “I should wait outside for Gus. She’ll be here any minute.”

“Okay.” Nicole gets up, too, and touches Waverly’s arm. “Hey. Are you okay? Did I say something?” They look at one another, their faces anxious.

“No,” Waverly says. “Of course not. I’m okay. Excited to read this.” She holds the book up briefly. “I’ll get it back to you soon, promise.”

“Take your time.”

*****

Nicole gives Waverly the rest of the cake so that her parents won’t find it.

“Waverly,” she says, as Waverly slips her shoes on in front of the door.

“Yeah?”

Nicole wants to ask her again if she’s okay, if she’s upset with her, what’s going on in her head. She wants Waverly to hug her good-bye. Instead, she says, “Thank you for coming.”

Waverly smiles. “Thank you for inviting me. I’ll see you at the game tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

Nicole holds the screen door open as Waverly slips past her, giving her a small wave as she heads toward the car pulling into the driveway. Nicole watches until she’s safe in the passenger seat, then waves at the car and goes inside.

She checks the kitchen once more, making sure nothing is out of place, then pours herself a glass of water and goes up to her bedroom, hoping to avoid contact with her parents. The inside of her chest is ringing hollow and aching and she feels sick because something… something happened in those last two minutes, and Nicole doesn’t know what she did wrong.

* * *

 

Waverly pushes her thoughts down and holds herself together, gives vague answers to Gus’s questions until they’re home and she’s sprinting upstairs to her room, coat and boots still on. She drops the cake on her desk, throws her backpack down and falls to her knees on the rug, hyperventilating, black stars popping in her vision, one hand on her stomach and the other braced against the floor, her heart beating so hard and so fast that she’s certain it will give out at any moment; she's certain she is going to die.

She sobs once, without tears, forcing herself to break the rhythm of her uncontrolled breathing, and squeezes her eyes shut. _Ride it out. Ride it out_. She repeats the mantra in her head until it rises to the top of her thoughts, and her heart, finally, gradually, slows. She breaks out in a sweat and starts to shake as the adrenaline begins to dissipate.

Her heart is still beating harder than usual as she peels her coat off with trembling hands, sits back against the side of her bed and unfolds her stiff legs so she can pull off her boots. She takes a few slow, deep breaths.

That was a bad one.

She tries to think rationally through what happened. The picture, the two girls kissing. When she looked at it, she suddenly saw the entirety of her short friendship with Nicole—but with a shift in perspective, as if the picture and Nicole’s words ( _She reminds me of you_ ) had shed light in a previously dark room.

She’s held Nicole’s hands, slept with her head on her shoulder, tucked her arm around her waist. What is happening? Why does she feel so comfortable touching her, being physically close to her? Is it because she knows Nicole is gay? Is she a tease and a flirt and a terrible person? Is she leading her on, or… or does she have feelings for her?

Does she have feelings for Nicole?

She sits there, legs straight out in front of her, head leant back against the bed, and thinks about Nicole.

She thinks back through their friendship again: the pure happiness of dancing with her at the bonfire, the feeling of protection as Nicole carried her piggyback through the woods, the relief of Nicole calling her back to herself when she panicked at the Homestead.

She thinks about Champ. Had she ever felt such a pull to him, really? _Really?_ Had she ever felt everything inside her settle when he touched her hand? Had she ever felt so safe with his arm around her? Had her heart ever filled with so much happiness when she saw him after a long day?

For the first time, she imagines something: Nicole walking up to her, taking her face in her warm hands, and pressing her lips firmly against Waverly's.

Her stomach disappears, like it did first time she stepped off the high dive at the public swimming pool, her arms flailing as she plunged in a free fall toward the water. Then everything comes back at once, a warm weight that starts in her chest and rushes quickly lower, flooding her entire body.

“Oh, fuck,” she breathes. She takes a deep breath in, and then blows it out slowly, closing her eyes.

She’s not a bad person. She’s pretty sure she hasn’t done anything wrong. She just likes a girl. Nicole.

She likes Nicole.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all! I cannot recommend Spinning by Tillie Walden enough. She's an AMAZINGLY talented artist and writer, and I love everything she's done. Her most recent book, On a Sunbeam, is absolutely outstanding and super queer. 
> 
> The more I write, the more I realize Nicole is just basically me in this fic (although I've given Waverly my panic attacks--sorry, Waves). Books were/are super important to me, both back when I was coming out, and now, so I couldn't help but write them into this story. 
> 
> You may have noticed I deviated from canon re: Robin's dating history, as Waverly reveals in 3x08 that he dated Chrissy Nedley in high school. All I have to say about that is: *shrug* (As an aside, Waverly's attitude toward Chrissy in that scene always puzzles me, since we know they'd previously been good friends, but that's neither here nor there). 
> 
> Thanks, everyone, for reading and for your lovely, kind comments, which give me life. Feel free to connect on Twitter! @prayingitsgay
> 
> <3 TeaPet
> 
> P.S. I went with brandy, vodka, and butterscotch Schnapps because those are the three random bottles of liquor in my freezer/on top of my fridge at the moment.


	10. In which things change

“You ever just feel like you’re… stuck?” Waverly asks Chrissy, apropos of nothing. She’s sitting cross-legged in front of the mirror on the vanity countertop in the Nedleys’ upstairs bathroom, wearing sweatpants and a sports bra and dabbing bright eyeshadow accents onto the inner corners of her eyes.

“Whaddaya mean?” Chrissy asks through a mouthful of mac and cheese. Rocking her shoulders back and forth in time to the T Swift coming from her phone, she drops a noodle down the front of her bra. “Oh, fuck.” Waverly raises an eyebrow and watches as Chrissy picks the noodle out with two fingers and eats it.

“I dunno,” Waverly continues. “Like, under pressure.”

“You mean like when Sonja tries to get me to do _another_ shot at every single party ever?”

Waverly snorts. “No, not like that. Like you’re doing things even though they don’t really make you happy.”

“You mean like Champ?”

Waverly swats her.

Chrissy shakes her head, not understanding. “Details, Waves.”

Waverly sighs, frustrated with herself for not having the right words. She’s tired. She’d stayed up late, reading _Spinning_ in its entirety, until everything started to blend together like a too-real dream. Nicole, Waverly, the girl in the book: Who is whom, and who feels what? 

Hell if she knows.

“Just thinking about what I’m going to do after high school, I guess,” she says, although that’s not it, not really. “I don’t know what I want to do. With my own life.”

“I don’t think you need to know right now. You’re only seventeen,” Chrissy says. She sets her empty bowl on the counter and begins to part her long hair. “You haven’t even touched your mac. Did I not put enough ketchup in it for you?”

“No, it’s good. Just how I like it.” Waverly picked up the ketchup habit from Chrissy years ago. Everyone else thinks they’re crazy, but it's delicious.

“Best friends?” Chrissy asks, her eyebrows drawn together. 

Waverly looks at her quickly. “The best, C.”

“Okay. Just checking,” Chrissy says softly. She ties her blue and white ribbon around the end of her flawless fishtail. 

“Do mine?” Waverly asks.

Chrissy silently moves to stand behind her, running her fingers through Waverly’s hair. “Eat your mac, or you’ll pass out during the game. I don’t want to have to catch you.”

“Um, that’s kind of your job, so…” Waverly puts a small bite into her mouth and forces herself to chew. After a moment, she says, “I still haven’t talked to Champ.”

Chrissy sighs, carefully gathering the strands of hair around Waverly’s ears and smoothing her fingers over her head to pull her hair into a tight ponytail. “I wondered. I wasn’t sure if I should ask.”

“Yeah.”

“You know you don’t _have_ to talk to him. You don’t owe him anything.”

“Yeah, I know…” Waverly’s head jerks from side to side as Chrissy tugs her hair almost fiercely through the tie. “But we dated for a long time.”

“So? What is there to say, even? He was an ass to Nicole. You dumped him.”

Waverly feels a thrill, her body perking up at the sound of Nicole’s name. “It was more than that, though,” she says, as though she needs to explain herself. “Before he said that thing to Nicole. I’d been thinking about breaking up with him for a while.”

“Really? You never said anything.” Chrissy’s fingers deftly fold strands of long hair over and under one another.

Waverly shrugs, growing tired of the conversation. Her brain feels like an inbox full of unread emails; she can’t open them because all she can focus on is Nicole. Kind, thoughtful Nicole, who texted her this morning to ask if everything was okay, and who is probably wondering why she hasn’t responded. Nicole, who is surely her opposite: sure of herself whereas Waverly is uncertain, confident whereas Waverly is afraid, stable whereas Waverly is just a mess.

“So _is_ Nicole gay?” Chrissy asks suddenly. 

Waverly opens her mouth, pauses, and then lies quickly. “I told you I don’t know.”

“Mmm. You hesitated. That says it all.”

“Chrissy.”

“What? I mean, I kind of wondered, even before Champ said anything. Anyway, I don’t care if she’s a lesbian.”

“Then why do you keep bringing it up?” 

“Can’t a girl be curious?”

Waverly sighs. “Just don’t tell anyone, okay? Please.” She searches for Chrissy’s eyes in the mirror, tilting her head until she looks at her.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry,” Chrissy says. “I won’t.”

“Not even the girls,” Waverly presses, feeling sick to her stomach.

“I _won’t.”_

Questions hover in Waverly’s mind like seagulls over a dock. _How do I know if I like Nicole like that? Does she think I’m into girls? What if she thinks I’m playing her? What if I ruin our friendship right when it’s getting started?_

She looks at Chrissy in the mirror, at the tiny frown on her face as she works Waverly’s hair between her fingers. Chrissy is funny and sweet and interesting. Waverly loves her, loves whispering with her until they fall asleep, loves Chrissy’s fingers in her hair and the safety of Chrissy’s arms beneath her after she flies. Is that any different from what she feels for Nicole?

Would she kiss Chrissy?

How can these feelings for Nicole be real if she’s never felt them for any other girl before? How can she _not have known_ this thing about herself? She thinks again of the unanswered text on her phone, wanting to answer it but not knowing how.

“Hey.” Chrissy tugs on Waverly’s fishtail, tearing her from her thoughts. “You’re all done. We should--”

“Girls, you gonna need a ride, or--oh, Christ!” Chrissy’s dad, still in his sheriff’s uniform, appears in the bathroom doorway and immediately propels himself away as if from an explosion, shielding his eyes from Waverly’s and Chrissy’s sports bra-clad chests.

“Dad!” Chrissy screeches.

“You’ve got the door wide open!” Mr. Nedley protests from the hallway, sounding aggrieved. “How was I to know you’re not decent?”

“Jesus.” Chrissy grapples for the door and swings it shut. “Give us a minute, would you?”

“I’ll be downstairs,” Mr. Nedley chokes out. 

“I can drive us!” Chrissy shouts after him as Waverly giggles nervously behind her. “God. Sorry about him. Come on, let’s get dressed.”

 

* * *

 

 The gymnasium is packed and humid despite the lobby doors propped open to the winter chill, full of the squeak of tennis shoes and the roar of the crowd. The cheerleaders’ voices cut through the din.

Nicole had every intention of skedaddling after snapping the required dozen or so photos, but the clock is counting down on the second half and she’s still lingering, propped against the wall beside the gym doors, the camera strap gathering sweat on her neck. 

She’s watching Waverly. 

She’s replayed last night a thousand times in her mind, and the fact remains that she’s just not sure what happened. Waking up this morning, she thought perhaps she’d imagined Waverly’s mood and decided to send her a text. Waverly hasn’t responded. 

The only thing Nicole can figure is that she just freaked out about her. The party, the book--it was too much gay at once.

She supposes she shouldn’t have held Waverly’s hands so much, shouldn't have picked her up in the woods. Why did she ever think touching her at all was a good idea? And to allow herself to have feelings for her! She’s such an idiot. A gay idiot.

She wants so badly to talk to Waverly. She also dreads it.

The cheerleaders are doing their thing on the other side of the gym floor, looking flawless and polished as always. They're too far away for Nicole to see Waverly’s expressions clearly but she keeps eyes on her nonetheless, willing Waverly to look her way while also fearful of being spotted.

When the buzzer sounds at the end of the game, Nicole comes to her senses and slips out the gym doors, wanting to beat the rush descending the bleachers. She weaves through the people milling around the concession stand and heads out into the cold, pulling her winter coat on as she goes, already longing for the warmth and solitude of her bed. 

“Hey.” 

Glancing toward the picnic tables beneath the bare maple tree to her right, Nicole searches for the source of the voice. To her dismay, Champ Hardy is sitting alone on the tabletop, booted feet propped on the bench in front of him. He's smoking a cigarette, and his blond hair seems to glow under the nearby streetlight. Nicole's stomach sinks.

He blows out a stream of smoke, nearly invisible in the darkness, and grins toothily at her, his eyelids drooping slightly. “Not gonna bite.” 

Nicole just continues to watch him. No words come to mind, so she stays quiet, rooted to the spot.

“Can _you_ tell me why Waverly won’t talk to me?” Champ asks. His tone is mild; he sounds almost bored with his own question. Not angry. Not even particularly concerned. “I assume you’ve been with her.”

Nicole shrugs.

“So what’s her problem?” Champ asks, in that same neutral voice. 

“I’m not gonna speak for her,” Nicole says. The words come out scratchy. She clears her throat. “Maybe you should give her some space.”

Champ shifts his body to look at her, glancing briefly up and down the length of her, then narrowing his eyes at her face. Nicole stares back at him defiantly, although her heart is pounding. 

“Sweetie,” Champ says, his voice dripping with something like sympathy, and Nicole feels a bolt of anger snap into place inside of her. “Did you get your hopes up about her? Trust me; she doesn’t swing your way.” He takes another drag of his cigarette, and Nicole feels as those he’s booted her in the chest. Has she been that obvious?

“Champ?” A voice rings out from near the doors, and both Champ and Nicole turn to look, Nicole with half a mind to escape while he’s distracted. But she recognizes the girl walking toward them through the group of chattering people now streaming out of the building.  

“Nicole?” the girl says. She gestures at herself and says, “Sonja.” Nicole notices a cigarette held in her right hand as Sonja reaches out, her fingers grazing Nicole’s elbow as she passes. 

“What are you doing here?” Sonja asks, stopping in front of Champ and crossing her arms. 

Champ sneers, unwilling to answer her. He tosses his spent cigarette on the ground and climbs off the picnic table to grind one foot against the glowing butt. Nicole watches his scowling face and almost feels sorry for him as he retreats to the parking lot. 

Sonja turns to Nicole, seeming to forget about Champ and her own cigarette completely. “You okay?” she asks, peering up into Nicole’s face. 

Nicole remembers Sonja's arm draped over her shoulders at the bonfire, the bottle of vodka knocking into her chest. She's surprised at Sonja’s concern and glances into her eyes, searching for a gleam of amusement, but Sonja’s not laughing at her. 

“Yeah, of course,” Nicole says quickly, more confidently than she feels. “Just heading out.”

“Want me to walk you to your car?” Sonja places a hand against the small of Nicole’s back, and Nicole nearly startles at the touch.

“No, it’s okay. But thanks.” She gives her an uncertain smile. 

“Okay,” Sonja says as Nicole walks away.

*****

 Nicole slogs through the rest of the week. 

The handful of casual, distant texts she eventually gets from Waverly only make her feel emptier: _Hey, sorry, so busy this week! Talk soon._ She composes a hundred texts in response, nearly baring her heart to her, but chickens out before sending each one. 

On Wednesday, she stupidly holds out hope that Waverly will come into the library during her shift to visit the archives--or maybe to visit Nicole--but she's disappointed. Before closing, she impulsively locates the box that Waverly had been looking through all those weeks ago in the archives room. She opens it and stares inside at the folders stuffed with papers, and then replaces the lid and slides it back onto the shelf without removing anything. 

Shame, bewilderment, annoyance and sadness cycle through her, and finally embarrassment settles heavily in her bones as she grows more certain that Waverly must have interpreted her actions as a come-on and distanced herself in response. Worse, she begins to doubt herself. _Had_ she come onto her? Had she crossed a line somewhere?

It doesn’t help that her race is this Sunday, and she’s tapering her training accordingly to conserve energy and muscle for the big day. She’s dying to hit the roads and run until she can’t breathe, until the burning in her lungs and legs masks the burning in her heart. 

On Saturday evening she caves and sends Waverly one text, the truest and simplest thing she can think to say: _Miss you. Sorry._

 

* * *

 

 When Waverly receives the text, she’s sitting in a plastic lawn chair in Sonja’s heated, detached garage, about nine-tenths of the way to drunk, with a cup of cheap wine in one hand and her phone in the other. 

After their meeting about captain tryouts, she, Rachel, and Chrissy had met at Sonja’s to begin choreographing their routines. When Sonja’s mom and two little brothers had returned home, the girls had retreated to the garage to order a pizza and open a bottle of wine or two. 

The garage is small and too crowded to fit a car, which makes it a great place to hang out. To Sonja’s father’s annoyance, the girls have made it theirs over the past couple of years: smuggled in a beer pong table, a mini fridge, a large stereo. There’s just room enough to squeeze in a few lawn chairs among all the usual junk one would expect to find in a garage.

_Miss you. Sorry._

Waverly stares at the words and, despite the combination of guilt and alcohol swirling inside her, a fleeting happiness rises to the top, because Nicole _misses_ her. 

But of course guilt wins out, stomping on the happiness that she doesn't have any right to feel. Nicole is sorry, which means that Waverly has made her feel as if she’s done something wrong. Really, Waverly thinks, it’s _she_ who should be sorry, _she_ who continues to do wrong by ignoring Nicole. She's a shitty friend. Why can’t she figure her shit out and just _talk_ to her?

There's a hole widening in her chest. Desperate to stop it growing, she takes a sip of wine that fills her mouth, nearly choking her. She swallows and coughs, her vision swimming as she looks at her friends.

“Guys,” she says abruptly, the alcohol making her careless, “you ever thought about kissing a girl?”

The other three look at her in surprise and amusement. Waverly expects them to laugh the question off--she’s got to be the most straight-laced and least adventurous of the four of them--but they actually seem to be considering it.

“Well… I _have_ kissed a girl,” Sonja says, and three heads swivel almost comically to look at her. She holds up two fingers. “Two, if I’m being honest.”

“Really?” Waverly asks, leaning forward. “When? Who?”

Sonja drains her cup and sits up. “Ah, fuck it.” She pours herself more wine. “Okay, I’m only telling you this because I’m drunk and I trust you guys. All right?

“So, the first was Erica Mariani at a party freshman year. I was totally drunk, and we just kind of did it for no real reason, but in my head I was like, okay, that was kinda cool. Then last summer I kind of had a thing, for like a second, with Cora Moran. We worked together at Miller’s and made out a couple of times.”

“Wow. So... you’re bi?” Rachel asks. 

Sonja shrugs. “I guess. I dunno, I never really thought about it. I’m mostly into guys, but sometimes girls are hot, too.” She laughs a little bit. “Haven’t you ever thought a girl was hot?”

“I mean,” Chrissy says, “I can tell when a girl is hot, but I’ve never wanted to kiss one.”

“Same,” Rachel says. She turns to Waverly suddenly, a gleam in her eye. “Are _you_ into girls, Earp?”

Waverly blinks a few times. In her drunk vision, Rachel’s face seems to be moving slightly of its own accord, drifting upward. “I dunno,” she says, shrugging. “I was just wondering what it would be like, I guess.”

Rachel asks, “Is that why you broke up with Champ?” 

_Is it?_ Waverly wonders. She shakes her head. “No.” 

“Here’s an idea." Rachel waves a finger between Waverly and Sonja. "Why don’t _you_ guys kiss. Try it out.”

“What, so you can watch? Pervert,” Sonja says, smirking.

Rachel shrugs, leaning back in her chair. “Just trying to help.”

“I think we’re good,” Waverly says.

“Aww, you don’t want to kiss me, Waves?” Sonja asks, pouting exaggeratedly. “Am I not your type?”

Waverly kicks a leg out playfully at her and jokes, “You’re too butch for me.” They all break into laughter and then lapse into silence. After a moment, Waverly breaks it. “Did you sleep with Champ?” she asks Rachel, “before we broke up?” 

Rachel looks completely taken aback by the question, her expression frozen in place on her face. Chrissy and Sonja, too, seem to have stopped breathing, as if afraid to disturb the suddenly precarious balance in the air. 

“I--no,” Rachel stammers, running a hand through her hair. Waverly looks at her with slightly narrowed eyes. She seems almost frightened, as though she might burst into tears at any moment. 

“Are you now?” Waverly blurts. “Sleeping with him?”

“Um, you broke up with him. What does it matter?” 

Waverly shrugs, and Rachel seems to gather herself, collecting barbs. “Are _you_ hooking up with that ginger chick?”

“Rachel, what the fuck?” Chrissy jumps to Waverly’s defense. “Don’t be like that.”

“Like what? _She_ started this conversation.” Rachel jabs a finger at Waverly. “Waverly, I was not, and am not, hooking up with your boyfriend, okay? I’m not the evil bitch you seem to think I am, so can you all just lay off?”

Waverly’s heart is beating too fast as she protests weakly, “I never said you’re evil,” but Rachel scoffs.

“Yeah. Okay. Just because you’re fucking perfect, doesn’t mean--ugh, whatever.” She waves a hand. “Forget it.”

“I’m not perfect. Seriously?” Waverly says.

Rachel drops her face into her hands and sighs, rubbing her eyes. “Look, think whatever you want about me, be gay, whatever. I don’t care. Sorry.” She stands up. “I’m gonna go.”

“You can’t drive,” Chrissy says immediately.

Sonja stands. “I’ll ask my mom to give you a ride.” She follows Rachel out the door, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Chrissy. Waverly sits slumped in her chair with her face in her hands. 

The door slams behind them, leaving a quiet broken only by Waverly’s sniffles and Chrissy’s soft sigh. She places an awkward hand on the back of Waverly’s shoulder, rubbing once or twice to let her know she’s there.

“I’m sorry.” Waverly’s voice is muffled and thick through her hands and tears, and even though it's only Chrissy who’s there with her, she's embarrassed to be crying. “I keep fucking everything up.”

Chrissy sighs. “Waves, no. You haven’t fucked anything up.”

“Yes, I have,” Waverly cries, her voice catching. She looks up, wiping at the tears rolling down her face. “I don’t even know why I asked Rachel that question. It just came out. I don’t even care if Champ cheated on me. I’m over him!"

“It’s okay if you do care,” Chrissy says gently. “You can be over him and still care.”

Waverly sniffles, annoyed by Chrissy's kindness. She doesn't deserve it. “I feel horrible. I am horrible.”

“Don’t.” Chrissy slides off her chair to squat in front of Waverly. She crosses her arms on Waverly’s knees. It's something that Waverly usually loves about her--the way she gets close to provide comfort--but today it just makes her feel suffocated. “Waves, what’s going on? You’ve been off all week.”

“Nothing,” Waverly says automatically, hands over her eyes as she drops her head over the back of the chair. She can't look at Chrissy.

“I don’t believe you.”

Waverly sighs, her eyes filling. “I miss Wynonna,” she whispers at the ceiling, the admission setting off another round of tears. Will she ever stop feeling sorry for herself? 

“I know, babe.”

“I just feel totally overwhelmed with family stuff, and I think Nicole might be upset with me, and I’m stressed about school and tryouts and Champ, and I can’t sleep, and I’m just so tired.”

Chrissy takes a deep breath and blows it out loudly. “Okay. Why would Nicole be upset with you? Did you guys have a fight?”

“No…”

Chrissy waits, and Waverly finally looks at her, her mouth quivering. “Chrissy,” she whispers, everything inside her reaching out toward her best friend now. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” Chrissy whispers back.

Waverly breathes in deeply and lets the breath out shakily. “I think I might have a crush on her.” Her breath hitches at the end of her sentence. _It's okay. It's Chrissy. It's okay._

“On Nicole?”

“Yeah.” She nods, letting out a short laugh. “Fuck.”

A small smile spreads across Chrissy’s face as she squeezes one of Waverly’s hands. “Hey,” she says quietly. “Waves.” When Waverly looks up at her, Chrissy whispers conspiratorially, “I mean, I don’t know, but I think she might have a crush on you, too.”

 

* * *

 

 On Saturday night, just around the time Nicole has given up on hearing from Waverly ever again, she receives a text. Her heart leaps into her throat.

_Miss you, too. Look for me at your race tomorrow._

 

* * *

 

 That night, Waverly steals out to the barn after dark, carrying only a flashlight. She’s shivering hard, the tightness of her muscles making her back ache as she slowly climbs the wooden ladder into the darkness of the loft. Her breath floats like smoke in the wavering flashlight beam. It’s quiet except for the gentle creak of the old barn in the wind.

She moves carefully through the loft, shoulders hunched, sweeping the light in front of her feet, and kneels before the trunk. 

It’s more than vintage. Flat-topped, made of slats of pitted wood, and lined on the inside with yellowed newspaper, it looks as though it’s been around for centuries. The hinges are spotted with rust but are, remarkably, still functional. They groan as Waverly lifts the lid.

It’s about half full, mostly of paper: newspaper clippings, black-and-white photographs, notes and letters scribbled in spidery handwriting. Waverly sifts through it, lifting the first few items and examining them, front and back, under the flashlight beam. The handwriting is difficult to read, and the trembling of her hands does not help. A few inches deep, tucked amongst the paper, her fingertips touch something solid, and she pulls out what seems to be a simple journal with a navy cover. Flipping it open, her eyes fall on a name scrawled in soft pencil in the top right corner: Ward Earp. Her heart stutters.

She looks around herself, moving the flashlight left and right, suddenly a bit spooked. Behind her, the ledge of the loft drops off into a deep blackness. She wishes Nicole were with her, like last time. 

But that had been a mistake. Nicole can’t know about this. If Waverly is going to be friends with her--or maybe, just maybe, more--she needs to be normal. Or at least, she needs to not have a supernatural curse on her family’s head.

Standing, she closes the trunk and takes the journal with her. Holding the flashlight in one hand and the journal in the other, she climbs backwards over the ledge, her feet searching for purchase on the rungs of the ladder. She’s shaking with nerves and fighting the urge to leap down into the darkness and sprint out of the barn. As her foot touches the floor, the flashlight slips from her fingers. As she lurches to catch it, her hand slides along the ladder, catching painfully on a jagged sliver of wood. The light clatters onto the barn floor and blinks out.

“Shit.” She hisses with pain and frustration, feeling along the floor as she fumbles in her coat pocket for her phone. Using its light, she locates the flashlight and knocks it against her palm; it comes to glowing life. On her knees, she swivels at the waist, moving the light around the perimeter of the barn. In the dark, everything casts menacing shadows. Blood pounds in her ears; her breath comes too fast and too loud. 

With a jolt of adrenaline, she jumps to her feet and runs to the barn doors, closing them clumsily behind her and taking off across the yard toward the house.

*****

At her desk she opens the book, her lamp the only light in the room. The journal begins in late 2002 as something of a log book, the quotidian events of each day recorded in a paragraph or two of short sentences. (On September eighth, she notes ruefully, her father does not mention her birthday.)

Soon, though, items of note begin popping up in his entries.

_10.9.02_

_Spent day in fields with Curtis. Willa first shooting practice this evening. Again tomorrow._

_11.4.02_

_Rev followed to property line--crossed? Property not protected? Shot._

Many entries are unintelligible, as though he’d been drunk at the time of writing. He seems to have favored one gun in particular, and it warrants many a mention in the journal, particularly in regard to Willa’s ability to wield it. Waverly wracks her brain, trying to locate a special gun in the memories of her childhood. She pinches the bridge of her nose and squeezes her eyes shut. There’s so much missing, and she’s not sure which of her father’s words are true and which are tinged with alcohol. Maybe the trunk holds more answers--or maybe just more questions. 

She closes the journal, switches off the lamp and crawls into bed, allowing her thoughts to drift over the painful blur of her childhood pre-dead father, pre-Willa’s disappearance. She thinks about the Homestead, which leads her to the day on the trail with Nicole, and to thoughts of Nicole herself.

She’s not sure she dares to believe that Nicole is attracted to her. Chrissy’s theory fills her with equal parts fear and excitement--because if Nicole does like her, then what? Could she actually do it? Could she actually be with a girl? Is that something she would do?

She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, picturing Nicole in her mind’s eye: red hair gleaming in the sun, soft brown eyes, the way her mouth opens when she laughs. In Waverly’s fantasy, they’re walking in the woods again, but it’s warm, springtime. There’s no need for jackets; they don’t need to run to keep warm. 

Nicole takes Waverly’s wrist, gently, and turns toward her, and… Waverly lets herself imagine the details. The warmth of Nicole’s fingers on her skin. How it would feel to stand so close that all they can see is each other. How Nicole’s gaze would dart from Waverly’s mouth to her eyes. She sees Nicole’s eyelids close, feels the weight of her hands on her waist, feels the softness of Nicole's lips pressed against her mouth. 

She’s lying still in her bed, her heart galloping. She takes a breath as if coming up for air.

When she returns to the woods, to Nicole’s mouth on hers, to Nicole’s lips parting, to the heat and wetness of her tongue sliding into Waverly’s mouth, there’s an ache between her legs. She imagines her hands moving to Nicole’s face, to the back of her neck, into her hair as she presses herself against Nicole’s body, feels Nicole’s hands slide up against her ribs and around to grip her back. 

Waverly rarely touches herself, but now she slides her hand down her belly and into her underwear, surprised and thrilled to feel the wetness there, and she finds that it’s the easiest thing in the world to keep her head in the woods with Nicole as she moves her fingers against herself. 

 

* * *

 

 Nicole reminds herself repeatedly throughout the thirteen-point-two-mile race to focus on her form, her breath, and her pace, but it’s no use. Her eyes are continually drawn to the sidelines, to all the stretches of trail and road where spectators stand cheering in the cold. Her head’s not in it. 

Eleven and a half miles in, she’s fading. Her feet feel hot and swollen, and the repeated pounding against the pavement has her knees and hips aching. She’s covered in a layer of cold sweat and has mostly given up on wiping her incessantly running nose. Passing an aid station, she gasps a breathy “thanks” as she plucks a gel packet from a volunteer’s outstretched hand.

And then she sees her, up ahead, standing on the shoulder of the road, and something lights up inside of her.

“Nicole!” Waverly yells as she approaches, as if Nicole’s not already staring at her.

Nicole breaks into a huge grin, feeling a surge of adrenaline at the sight of Waverly so bundled up against the cold. She’s clutching a travel mug in one hand, but one arm is waving above her head and she’s bouncing adorably on her toes in excitement. Nicole waves shyly at her and speeds up despite wanting to stop and scoop Waverly up into a hug. She’s never been so overjoyed to see anyone’s face in her entire life. She feels as though she could turn around and run the entire course over again, could even do it carrying Waverly on her back.

“Looking gooood!” Waverly cheers and whoops as Nicole runs past. Absurdly, Nicole’s eyes fill with tears, and one or two stream out the corner of her eye, drying cold and salty against the side of her face before she can wipe them away.

She doesn’t even bother with the energy gel; she rides the adrenaline rush to the finish line, stopping her watch as she crosses beneath the arch and ducks so that a volunteer can slip a finisher’s medal over her neck. A few minutes later, as she’s wandering around on wobbly, nearly numb legs, half a banana in hand, Waverly breaks through the crowd.

 

* * *

 

 Nicole is sweaty, red-faced, and snot-nosed. Strands of hair have come loose from her ponytail and drifted over her headband and into her eyes. She’s the most gorgeous thing Waverly has ever seen.

Waverly allows herself to acknowledge this. 

And when Nicole smiles a tired but relieved smile at her, Waverly notices the flutter in her belly and the warmth that spreads outward from it, and she can’t help but squeal and throw her arms around Nicole’s damp neck.

“Ooh--I’m really gross right now,” Nicole warns her, hooking an arm nevertheless around her back.

“You were amazing!” Waverly squeaks, squeezing her tight, and Nicole laughs. 

“You saw me for like two seconds.”

“Yeah, and you were going _so_ fast!” Waverly says, which makes Nicole laugh again. Waverly lets go and steps back, playing with the medal around her neck, turning it in her fingers. “How do you feel?”

“Like my legs are about to fall off,” Nicole groans. “Or maybe they already have. But I think I did okay. Seeing you gave me a boost of energy.”

Waverly smiles up at her. “Yeah?”

“Totally.”

“So, what now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what do you want to do now?” Waverly holds her breath, hoping that everything isn’t ruined and that Nicole still likes her and wants to spend time with her.

“Hmmm. Takeout and a movie at my place?” Nicole asks, and Waverly bites her lip through a grin, buzzing with relief and excitement.

“Sounds perfect.”

*****

They order Waverly’s favorite: baba ganoush and hummus with a stack of fluffy pita, tangy stuffed grape leaves, a giant tub of thick lentil soup, and a pile of crispy falafel from the tiny, hole-in-the-wall Middle Eastern restaurant on the edge of town. 

“Are you a vegetarian?” Nicole asks, surveying the array of fragrant dishes spread on the coffee table in the den. She's dying to dig in.

“Oh,” Waverly says. “Yeah, I am. But don’t worry, I picked stuff with lots of protein.”

“I told you I trusted you to order,” Nicole reassures her with a smile. “It looks amazing. I just didn’t know that about you.” She tosses her hair, damp from the shower, over her shoulder and picks up a falafel. 

“Dip it in the hummus,” Waverly directs her, pointing.

“Yes, ma’am.”

They turn on the television and begin eating straight from the containers. Waverly decides not to bother Nicole with conversation while she eats, but she does watch with amusement as Nicole inhales an entire loaf of pita dipped in baba ganoush and eats half of the tub of soup. 

“I’m sorry you have to see my post-race face-stuffing,” she says. “It can’t be pretty.” 

Waverly just smiles and wrinkles her nose happily at her. Her stomach is so full of butterflies, she can hardly get any food down herself.

When Nicole can’t eat another bite, she crawls onto the floor and flops on her stomach, arms at her sides, face pressed into the carpet. “You okay?” Waverly puts the lids on the containers, looking over the coffee table at the back of Nicole’s head.

“Everything hurts, and I’m dying,” Nicole says, her voice muffled. 

Waverly makes a sympathetic sound and crawls across the floor to kneel beside her. Resisting the urge to place a hand on her back, she rests her hands on her own knees as she considers her next move. It feels as though the world hangs on it, as if the wrong thing could make this fragile reconnection between them crumble. 

So instead of thinking about it, she taps Nicole’s calf and says, “I’m really good at massages.”

Nicole props herself up on her elbows with some effort and looks over her shoulder at Waverly. She says nothing, just meets Waverly’s gaze and considers her. Feeling scrutinized, and not knowing what else to do, Waverly moves to kneel near Nicole’s feet. “Can I?”

Nicole nods, the corners of her lips turning up slightly, and with trembling hands Waverly gently pushes Nicole’s sweatpants up so that they’re bunched around her knees, leaving her calves bare. Repositioning herself, she hesitates for only a second before placing her hands on Nicole’s left leg and beginning to knead her thumbs into her muscle. 

“Oh, my god,” Nicole groans into her hands. 

A wave of arousal ripples through Waverly’s body. “Okay?” she says softly, pressing more deeply as she searches for knots and tight spots with the pads of her thumbs.

“ _So_ okay,” Nicole answers, her voice strained. “You’re seriously amazing.”

Waverly smiles to herself and continues, only switching to knuckles when her hands begin to ache. She can’t believe she’s never realized how sexy calves can be. 

*****

By the time she’s done, Nicole’s eyes are closed and she’s breathing deeply, mouth open, head on her arms. Waverly gingerly pulls the legs of her sweatpants back down to her ankles and collapses slowly onto her back next to Nicole, knees bent, hands on her stomach. She stares up at the ceiling, letting her heart rate return to normal.

“Waverly?” Nicole asks quietly. Waverly turns her head toward her. Nicole hasn’t opened her eyes or moved.

“Yeah?”

She’s quiet for so long that Waverly thinks maybe she’s fallen asleep. But soon she takes a deep breath in and sighs, and she sounds so weary that Waverly worries she’s upset with her, or that she’s about to tell her off. 

With a groan, Nicole pushes herself up so that she’s propped on her elbows. “Did you read that book?”

“Yeah, I did,” Waverly says, surprised by the question. 

“What did you think?” Nicole looks at her hands, picks at her fingernails as she waits for Waverly to answer.

“I liked it. It--it made me think.” 

“What about?”

“About myself.” After a beat, Waverly adds, “And about you.”

Nicole sighs and seems to force herself to look into Waverly’s eyes. “Waverly,” she begins, shaking her head gently, “I’m so sorry if I did something to upset you. If I did something I shouldn’t have or made you uncomfortable--”

“No,” Waverly interrupts. She reaches over herself and grasps Nicole’s wrist, the closest thing in reach. Nicole looks down at her hand. 

“You didn’t,” Waverly says. “I’m the one who should be sorry.” She rubs her thumb back and forth, over the bump of bone on the back of Nicole’s wrist. Her heart is pounding, and she doesn’t know what she’s doing, and she’s terrified of saying something she can never take back. But touching Nicole in this way, gently, feels so, so good.

“What happened?” Nicole asks softly. “Are you okay?” 

“I… ” Waverly hesitates, her mouth open, the words stuck in her throat. She pushes up on her elbows; their faces are only inches apart now. She tries again. “I… ” 

They’re frozen there, the moment lingering, stretching on and on, until Nicole rolls over onto her back. She holds an arm out, gestures with her fingers, and Waverly curls into her side, her head on Nicole’s collarbone, nestled in the soft spot between shoulder and neck.

 

* * *

 

 They lie still for a long while, but Nicole’s pulse continues to race along with her thoughts. She touches Waverly’s hair once, running her fingers gently through soft strands, but it’s too much for her, and she doesn’t know if Waverly wants that, so she stops. 

A moment later, when she feels lips press softly against the side of her neck, she freezes, heart thumping in her chest. She’s imagined it. Or it was an accident, a literal slip of the lip. She does not dare to move.

When Waverly pulls back just enough to look at her face, though, Nicole manages to turn her head toward her. Waverly’s mouth is open slightly, their faces only inches apart, her eyes searching Nicole’s. Nicole swallows and waits, her chest shuddering with the strength of her heartbeat and her desperate want and aching hope and fear of believing.

With gentle fingers, Waverly tucks Nicole’s damp hair behind her ear, her soft hand coming to rest against Nicole’s cheek. “Is this okay?” she whispers, sounding almost breathless. 

Nicole hears the tremble in her voice, and her own legs begin to tremble. Somehow, she manages to nod. “Yeah,” she breathes, feeling Waverly’s thumb stroke her cheekbone. She lets her eyelids drift closed for a second as she teeters on the edge of some vast abyss, heart in her throat. The only feeling she knows is the warmth of Waverly’s hand on her face.

Waverly inches forward slightly and props herself on an elbow, her eyes never leaving Nicole’s. Her hand slides down the side of Nicole’s neck and around to the front of her throat, her gentle fingers grazing the vulnerable skin there. “Still okay?” she whispers, looking down at Nicole. 

Nicole nods, her mouth falling open slightly as her breath comes more quickly.

Waverly traces Nicole’s jawline slowly, starting at her earlobe, moving down to her chin, and finally stroking Nicole’s bottom lip with a single fingertip. She’s so close now that Nicole can see each individual eyelash, each strand of hair in her brows. 

Waverly closes her eyes and whispers, “Still okay?”

And instead of answering, Nicole places a hand on the side of her face, pushes herself up, and kisses her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch-ch-changes


	11. In which the library is a romantic gathering space

In the moment when her lips touch Nicole’s, everything inside Waverly settles. Instead of fireworks sparking and crackling behind her eyelids, or explosions violently rocking her heart, it's as though a wave of clear water washes over her body, cleansing her heart of worry and momentarily removing every weight. She floats dreamily, surrounded and warm and safe in her happiness. 

The softest whimper of relief escapes Nicole’s throat—such a feminine sound, so foreign to Waverly’s ears—and the wave begins quickly to rise inside of Waverly, the pressure swelling behind her ribcage and in her throat until she’s either going to laugh, or moan, or cry from the pure joy and sensation of it all. Breaking the kiss, she presses her forehead against Nicole’s just so that she can take a breath. 

There, on the tan carpet of the Haughts’ dimly lit, wood-paneled den, beside the coffee table strewn with food containers, Waverly is kissing a girl. She’s kissing Nicole _. She’s kissing Nicole._ The thought runs through her mind on a loop, but still she can hardly believe it.

Nicole returns her smile and then kisses her again, sliding a shaky hand around to the back of Waverly’s neck, letting her fingers slip into her hair. Their lips are still closed, but there’s something steady, a bit more certain, about this kiss. 

Waverly can’t stop her lips from curving up into a smile, which makes Nicole grin, too. Then they’re not kissing anymore, just smiling against each other’s mouths, so Waverly moves back and looks up into Nicole’s face, dazed. 

“Wow,” she breathes.

Her thoughts are jumbled, wordless and incoherent, but amidst the chaos in her brain and heart and body Waverly recognizes an emotion: astonishment. She’s kissed quite a few people by this point in her life. For the most part it’s been pleasant, sometimes even exceptional, but _this._ She hadn’t known a kiss could make her feel like this _,_ like she’s stumbled upon a treasure trove. 

Nicole exhales a tentative laugh and collapses backward against the floor, one hand beneath her head. Her eyes find Waverly, wide-eyed and propped on an elbow beside her, and then Waverly joins her, rolling onto her back and taking Nicole’s hand. She intertwines their fingers as they lie there, pressed shoulder to shoulder, just breathing.

Sudden shyness settles over her. She wishes Nicole would say something. She’d also just like to continue kissing her, but now that they’ve done it once she’s not sure how to do it again. Is it okay to just start kissing her again?

“So, you…” Nicole begins.

Waverly turns her head to look at the side of Nicole’s face, noticing how pink her cheeks are, more than happy to let Nicole begin the talking. 

“Was that okay?” Nicole asks.

“Yes.” Waverly squeezes her hand, glad to have a question she can answer. _Okay._ What a ridiculously inadequate word. 

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

They’re quiet for a moment, so quiet that Waverly can hear the ticking of a clock somewhere to her right, almost as loud as the rush of blood in her ears. 

“Wow.” Nicole laughs breathily, sounding amazed, and turns her head to look at Waverly. “So, you—” she says again, looking into Waverly’s eyes, seeming to search for the answer to her unasked question. 

Waverly smiles gently and shrugs. She thinks she knows what Nicole is trying to ask. 

Nicole turns her face away again, speaking up at the ceiling. “I thought that I was… too gay for you, or something,” she says hesitantly, abandoning her line of questioning for now.

Waverly frowns. “What? Nicole… no. What do you mean?”

“Not—too _gay,_ but—sorry, I just mean—” Nicole removes her hand from behind her head and covers her eyes with it as she speaks. “I thought maybe you thought that I liked you, and it made you uncomfortable, or something.”

There’s a moment of silence as Waverly takes in Nicole’s words. So, she’s had it all wrong. Here she was worrying that she’d led Nicole on, while apparently that thought hadn’t even occurred to Nicole. She was busy feeling guilty in her own way.

“Well… _do_ you like me?” Waverly asks finally.

Nicole looks at her. “Yes! Yes. I didn’t mean… Shit. Yes. ” Nicole turns on her side, propping herself on an elbow. “I do like you. I mean, I really like you. I just thought that you thought—I don’t know. You’ve just thrown me for a loop, is all. I’m just surprised. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Waverly turns, too, mirroring her. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I was surprised, too.”

“Surprised that I like you? Or surprised that you _—_ well, _do_ you like me?” Nicole asks quietly. 

Waverly chews on her bottom lip and gives a tiny nod. “I think so.”

“You think so?” 

She sees a flicker of unease in Nicole’s eyes, notices the way her fingers begin fidgeting, and she wants to backpedal, or perhaps fast-forward to more kissing. She feels suddenly unprepared to have this talk. If only she had more time to think. There’s so much thinking she needs to do, now that they’ve kissed. 

“I mean.” She moves her hand forward and taps at the back of Nicole’s with her index finger. Nicole opens her hand, inviting Waverly to fold her fingers around hers, and rubs a thumb over Waverly’s knuckles. "Can I kiss you again?” Waverly whispers.

Nicole nods, eyes hopeful again and sparkling, and waits for Waverly to lean toward her. 

The kiss is tender, almost tentative. Nicole’s lips are soft and warm and feel so _new,_ so unexpected. Almost without thinking Waverly moves closer, slipping her hand out of Nicole’s and around to her back, sliding her palm over the dip of her waist, her fingers touching warm skin at the small of her back. When their chests touch, Waverly’s breath wavers at the unexpected pressure of Nicole’s breasts against her own, a sensation she’s never imagined or considered before now.

She lets her lips part slightly, marveling at the feeling of Nicole’s mouth against her own and at the way she kisses, so easy and tender and careful. She pulls Nicole closer, pressing herself against her, her palm held firmly against her back. 

Nicole breaks the kiss, though. She takes a deep breath in, then exhales slowly as if to gather her wits about her and runs a hand through her hair, pulling it roughly over her shoulder in a way that makes Waverly want to fist her hand in the long, red strands. 

After a moment Nicole smiles softly and strokes the hair gently back off Waverly’s forehead, tucking it behind her ear. Her eyes rove over Waverly’s face.

Waverly has grown accustomed to attention: the scrutiny of townspeople who gossip about her family, the appraisal of boys with groping hands, the bright eyes of girls who admire her, the cutting gaze of the envious. She alternately resents it, feeds off it, shies away from it, seeks it out. But Nicole’s attention feels different. She’s at ease under Nicole’s gaze, comfortable with the closeness. She’s not worried about how she looks; she doesn’t wonder if Nicole is judging her. Nicole’s attention feels like care. 

“You are so, so beautiful,” Nicole breathes, and then, adorably, her cheeks bloom red. 

Waverly smiles gently. Her first instinct is to deny the compliment, to shrug it off or ignore it as she always would when Champ told her how sexy she was. But instead she holds onto it. 

“I’ve never liked a girl before,” she admits suddenly, quietly. She doesn’t know anything about how to be—well, about how to do this. If she lets herself think about it too much, it’s all rather frightening. She has no idea what she’s doing.

Nicole looks carefully at her. “No?” Waverly shakes her head. “How are you feeling right now?” Nicole asks.

“Um.” Waverly swallows. “A little bit scared.” She forces herself to keep looking into Nicole’s eyes, hoping that this isn’t the wrong thing to say. 

Nicole smiles a bit. “Me, too.”

“Really?”

She nods. 

“Why are you scared?” Waverly asks, and it comes out sounding too hard, almost skeptical.

Nicole thinks for a minute, her eyes darting off to the side, and shrugs. “It’s just scary.” Her eyebrows are drawn together in the middle, and Waverly wants to reach up and smooth the skin between them. She wonders what frightens Nicole. 

“You don’t have to be scared,” she tells her. 

Nicole hesitates. “I’m not so sure about that.”

Waverly reaches up and rubs a lock of red hair between her fingers. She’s not sure what to say, so she keeps quiet. She’d like to repeat herself, insist that there’s nothing to be afraid of. What could Nicole—who seems to know herself so well, who doesn’t have family curses and a broken sister and absent parents—possibly have to fear? 

Waverly brushes the backs of her fingers against Nicole’s jaw. “I kind of freaked out when I realized that I—I like you.”

“I think that’s normal." 

“I’m still a little freaked out, actually. I’m not sure what I’m doing." Waverly looks nervously up at Nicole. She’s not sure why she’s saying all this, as it surely can’t be lending credibility to her case, but she can’t seem to stop.

Nicole draws back a tiny bit. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do." 

“No, I didn’t mean…” Waverly reaches for her, puts a hand on Nicole’s waist. “I didn’t mean I don’t… I just…”

Nicole just looks at Waverly. “It’s okay. There’s no pressure, okay? Whatever you want is okay. Or nothing, if that’s what you want.”

Waverly nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”  


* * *

   
After Nicole drops her at home, Waverly steps through the front door only to hear Gus and Curtis arguing in the kitchen. Running quietly up to her bedroom, she grabs her backpack and, after a moment’s hesitation, tucks her diary and her father’s journal into her tote bag. Back downstairs she grabs Curtis’s keys off the wall and heads to the truck without ever having removed her boots.

*****

“Well! Miss Waverly. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Shorty slaps a dingy rag over his shoulder and leans his palms into the bartop. Waverly looks up from her diary to see his pockmarked face relax into a friendly smile. “Hey, Shorty.”

“Everything all right?” 

“Yeah.” Waverly closes her diary and slides it on top of her father’s without looking down, lining them up so that Shorty won’t ask about it. “Gus and Curtis are… having words at home.”

“Ah. Wynonna?” Shorty asks, looking concerned.

Shorty is a family friend, and one of the good ones. One of the few people who can ask about Wynonna without getting Waverly’s hackles up. Waverly’s been coming to Shorty’s for as long as she can remember.

She sighs. “Dunno. I just took off. Needed some time to think.”

“Well.” Shorty looks around. “You’ve come to the right place.” The saloon is warmly lit and almost empty. Two men, each of them alone, sit quietly with their arms propped on the bar, nursing glasses of amber liquid; another four are playing a game of pool in the corner, their pint glasses leaving wet rings on the edges of the table. 

“Can I get you anything? Food? Something to drink? I’ll put it on your uncle’s tab.” Shorty winks.

“You got any tea?” Waverly asks. “I need something warm.”

“Lemme see if I can scrounge up a bag.” He disappears into a back room. 

Waverly slides her father’s journal to the side; she’s not even sure why she brought it with her. She opens up her own diary, tapping the end of her pen against the page. She’s always used her diary as a sort of mental filing cabinet, a place to store thoughts until she needs them again, to clear up space in her head. Her mind feels like a tangled ball of yarn, and she can’t find the end of the string, can’t even begin to unknot everything. She closes her eyes and drops her forehead onto her crossed arms, taking a few breaths.

She looks up when a mug clunks down near her elbow. “Best I can do,” Shorty says. "I think it's green."

Waverly peers into the mug. There’s a tea bag floating in there, and the water is steaming. Good enough. Never mind the permanent coffee stains on the inside of the porcelain. “Thanks, Shorty.”

“A’right. You flag me down if you need anything.” Shorty’s eye seems to catch on something. “What’s this?” He reaches for Wyatt’s journal, frowning.

Waverly slaps her hand down on top of it, then grimaces. “Nothing,” she says. “Sorry, it’s just--it’s private.”

“Waverly.” Shorty lowers his voice and glances around. He leans across the bar toward her. “Curtis know you have that?”

Waverly slides the journal off the edge of the bar and onto her lap, fingers curling tightly around its edges. “He showed it to me. Shorty, what’s wrong?”

“Where’d he keep it?”

“What does that matter?”

Shorty sighs, looking around again. “You should be careful with that,” he says. “It’s, uh, old. Valuable. Just do me a favor, okay? Don’t let anyone know you have it? Keep it hidden.”

“Hidden?” Waverly can feel her heartbeat. 

“Please.”

Waverly slips the journal into her bag, glancing furtively around as she does so, although she has no idea what it is she’s looking for. She meets the eye of one of the men at the bar. He looks away.

“Enjoy that tea,” Shorty says. He smiles curtly and moves away to resume cleaning glasses.

Waverly stands, slips her backpack on, and carefully picks up her mug of hot tea. She relocates to a table in the corner, where it’s dimmer, quieter, out of the spotlight. Leaving her dad’s journal in her bag, she pulls out her diary and opens it again.

She writes about kissing Nicole, just lays down the facts without any of the emotion, although she doesn't feel uncomfortable writing about it. When she'd first had sex with Champ, she'd noted it ("Champ and I had sex tonight for the first time") without going into any detail.

She reads the passage over again. Just thinking about it makes her stomach flutter. She closes her eyes and lets her mind drift back to a few hours earlier. By the time she finishes remembering it all, she realizes she’s smiling. 

What is she going to do?

She wants to kiss Nicole again; that much is certain. But what does that mean for her? Does it mean she’s not the person she thought she was? Is she… bisexual? The word feels foreign. She doesn’t know how she’s supposed to just _be_ something that she never even knew she was. At least, not right away. 

And what the hell was up with Shorty and the journal? She’s so glad Nicole wasn’t here to see that.

Her mind ping-pongs from one worry to another. 

She rubs her hands over her eyes and then leans back, against the hard back of the wooden booth, staring out at the bar. Shorty has put up the bare minimum in Christmas decorations: green plastic garland draped over a few of the bar lights; a hollow, faded plastic Santa illuminated in the front window.

She has to figure things out. 

She can't lose Nicole.   


* * *

   
Over the next several days, they resume texting much as before. 

Nothing jumpstarts Nicole’s heart quite like seeing Waverly’s name pop up on her phone screen. She always takes a moment just to look at it there, admiring it, prolonging the anticipation. Waverly Earp. _Waverly Earp._ What a perfect name.

Although the texts are nothing out of the ordinary, she reads them over and over again: comments about teachers during class, updates on Waverly’s state of exhaustion, complaints about homework. But Nicole’s favorite texts are the random questions Waverly has started asking her.

_What’s your favorite animal?_

_If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would it be?_

_Do you have cousins?_

_Have you ever broken a bone?_

_How do you feel about snow?_

After answering, Nicole always turns the question back on Waverly ( _What about you?)_ but she doesn’t ask her own questions. Not yet.

Kissing Waverly had been… Nicole had searched for the right word to describe the feeling, lying in bed, staring wide-eyed at her ceiling that night. _Extraordinary. Earth-shattering. Electrifying._ It was _awesome_ in the truest sense of the word. She'd been filled with awe at the feeling of Waverly’s lips against hers, and at the way Waverly continued to surprise her. ( _Surprise_ is an understatement, really. _Stun_ is more accurate.)

She’s just in awe of Waverly.

If Nicole had thought she cared for her before, it was nothing to how she feels now: as though her very heart has opened up and made room and swallowed Waverly whole. 

After she’d driven Waverly home, Nicole had suffered through a long, cold walk outside, her boots feeling abnormally weighty on her aching feet. She’d needed fresh air, movement, and solitude to think about what had happened. She felt as though she’d been in a daze the entire time she was with Waverly, and only once she was alone did everything begin to sink in—including the doubt. 

Waverly _had_ wanted to kiss her, hadn’t she? Nicole hadn’t read that wrong? Had she been too forward? Had she kissed her too much? Said too much? Was she remembering everything correctly?

Feeling amped up and needing distraction, she'd pulled up the police academy application on her computer and begun filling it out. She’d finished all the demographic sections, uploaded her transcript and even pounded out a rough draft of the essay portion before she felt her body crash, the half-marathon and the emotion of the day settling heavily into her bones. 

But despite the exhaustion, sleep was impossible that night. She couldn’t stop worrying about the kiss, replaying it over and over until she was sure she was remembering it all wrong.

Even now, she can hardly believe it happened. Or, rather, that it’s happening. Because it's Wednesday, and Waverly doesn’t seem to regret anything yet. 

But Nicole is certain that she will. 

Because on the one hand there’s Waverly: stunning, a cheerleader, an outstanding dancer, extremely well liked, smart, and up until about a minute ago, happily dating a dude. 

And then there’s Nicole ( _womp womp):_  awkward, unpopular, uncomfortable at parties, inexperienced, not a cheerleader, not a dancer, not hot. (Because yeah, Nicole thinks, there are no two ways around it. Waverly is _hot.)_

So Nicole cannot wrap her mind around the fact that Waverly seems to be into her. It seems impossible. It _is_ impossible, she tells herself firmly. Right? She’s heard about things like this happening—straight girls experimenting with queer girls, making them fall in love only to turn around and break their soft, gay hearts. How well does she _know_ Waverly, really?

But even more terrifying is the fear that _she_ may be the one taking advantage. Did she push her queerness onto someone who doesn’t really want it?

*****

On Wednesday evening, Nicole is perched on a miniature chair at a child-sized table at the library. The table is old and wooden, painted yellow and covered in waxy scribbles from tiny hands carrying Crayon marks off the edges of papers. There’s something sweet and comforting about the smallness of the furniture. It reminds Nicole of preschool. 

She’s using a creaky metal punch to make pink construction-paper circles when a mittened hand pulls out the chair across from her. 

“Whatcha making?”

Surprised, Nicole looks up from her task. “Waverly,” she says.

Waverly fits herself into the chair, pulling off her mittens as she watches a paper circle float down onto the table. Winter looks good on her. Her cheeks and lips are pink from the cold; her hair tumbles in waves over the oversized plaid scarf peeking out of her coat. 

“What’re you doing at the library?” Nicole asks, reminding herself to speak.

“Thought I’d do a bit of research.” Waverly shrugs, and her lips curve upward in a small, sweet smile. “And say hi to you. Hope that’s okay.”

Nicole smiles shyly in response, feeling her body come alive as she looks at Waverly, who glances again at the shapes scattered across the tabletop and raises an inquisitive eyebrow at Nicole. She uses her fingernails to pick up a circle and holds it up, pinched between thumb and index finger. 

“Oh,” Nicole says. “Mouse ears, for toddler storytime. And these are their heads.” She taps a gray paper triangle. “And tails.” She points to a pile of pink yarn pieces.

“Adorable,” Waverly says. “You do storytimes?” 

“Nah. The librarians do it. I’d be too nervous. All those kids and parents staring at me.”

“Awww. I bet you’d be better than you think,” Waverly says. “I’d love to listen to you read.” 

Nicole looks down, fiddling with the hole punch to hide her smile. “Well. Maybe I’ll read something to you,” she says. “Some time.”

“Yeah?”

Nicole glances up at Waverly, who looks genuinely hopeful, and smiles. “Sure.”

“Promise?”

“Sure.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Waverly’s eyes crinkle into half moons when she smiles at Nicole. “I’ll stop bothering you while you’re working. I don’t want to get you in trouble or anything. I’m just gonna go check out the archives.”

“You won’t get me in trouble. They totally love me here,” Nicole says cheekily. “But okay. Let me know if you need help with anything.”

“Thanks,” Waverly says. “I’ll wait for you to get done?”

“Okay.” Nicole smiles up at her, wondering what’s happened to her ability to string words into sentences. Waverly touches her shoulder as she passes, and Nicole reaches up to graze her hand with her fingertips, turning to watch her go.

*****

Her shift is interminable. She can’t help but worry that Waverly will grow impatient and decide to leave before it’s over. At a quarter to nine, when she pokes her head into the archives room, her heart sinks at finding it empty. After closing up the downstairs with her heart in her stomach, she heads up to the main floor. 

While making her round of the stacks, keeping an eye out for straggling patrons, she spots Waverly standing between two shelves with her head at an angle, squinting at the vertical titles stamped on the book spines. Nicole’s heart soars.

“Hey,” she says, managing to keep her voice casual. “Thought you left.” 

Waverly looks over. “Told you I’d wait, silly.” She smiles at Nicole and, as if remembering something, sticks a hand into the tote bag dangling from her shoulder and pulls out _Spinning._ “I almost forgot. I was going to return it, but then I wasn’t sure if you’d finished reading it.”

“I haven’t, actually. Thanks.” Nicole takes the hefty novel. “You looking for something?”

“Yeah.” A wide smile spreads across Waverly’s face. “Something for you to read to me.”

Nicole gives a good-natured groan, scratching at her forehead. “Yeah, when I said that… I didn’t really mean tonight...”

“No? Why not?” Waverly holds a hand out, and Nicole looks ruefully at her before placing her palm gently against Waverly's, which is warm for once. Waverly squeezes her hand and swings her arm gently back and forth. Nicole’s heart seems to lurch in time with their clasped hands. 

“You busy or something?” Waverly asks.

Nicole gives her an amused look. “I have to finish closing.”

“Mmm. Okay.” Waverly cheerfully turns her attention back to the bookshelf. “I’ll be here.”

*****

At Nicole’s suggestion, they settle on Tillie Walden’s newest graphic novel, _On a Sunbeam._ It’s even more of a doorstopper than _Spinning_ , but Nicole’s been dying to read it. When she asks Waverly if she’s ready to leave, Waverly asks hesitantly, “Would it be okay if we stayed here for a little while?”

“Here?” Nicole looks around the darkened library, considering. They’re the only people there. It’s quiet and still and, if she’s honest, the old house is a little bit spooky this late at night, with its shadowy stacks and unmanned desks. _We should leave_ , says the rule-following portion of her brain. But Waverly is looking hopefully, almost nervously, up at her, so...

“Sure,” she decides, and Waverly’s smile makes it worth it.

They find a sofa near a window. Nicole pulls the shade down and clicks on a lamp, and Waverly curls up close with her legs drawn up. She leans into Nicole so that she can see the pictures, or perhaps follow along as Nicole reads. She’s so close that Nicole can feel the rise and fall of her every breath, and she has to focus on keeping her own breath steady. 

After a few pages, her self-consciousness begins to fade away. “The colors are so beautiful,” Waverly breathes. She reaches toward the paper, moving a fingertip around one of the panels. “The way she only uses a handful.”

“Mmm,” Nicole agrees. “Complementary colors. Not necessarily the first ones you’d think of for something like this.”

“Exactly! But she makes them work. Makes you feel like you’re really in outer space.”

Nicole smiles as she continues to read. She pauses between panels, lingering before each turn of the page to give Waverly time to take in the abundant tiny details in the illustrations. Waverly slowly sinks into Nicole as she reads, pressing closer, her body relaxing until her head is resting on Nicole’s shoulder. Nicole wants to put an arm around her, but she doesn’t think she can hold the book with one hand. She mentally curses Tillie Walden for writing such a long story, and then she feels bad and takes it back.

“Describe to me what’s going on." Waverly's voice is soft; she sounds sleepy and content.

“Hm?” 

“In the pictures. I’m resting my eyes.” 

“Oh,” Nicole says. “Um, okay, I’ll try.” She studies the two characters in the panel, both girls. “Um, so Grace is sitting on a swing, and Mia is on some kind of playground equipment.” 

She pauses, thinking. Waverly is silent, so she continues. “It’s dark inside the school, everything dark blue. Outside there are trees with deep red leaves… and beyond them is black space and speckles of white stars.”

Waverly hums quietly, appreciating the scene. She snuggles closer to Nicole, inhales deeply, and sighs. “Keep going.”

So Nicole keeps going, moving on to the dialogue. “Grace says, _Mia?_  

“ _Hmm?_ says Mia.

“And Grace asks, _Why are you hanging out with me?_ She’s facing away from Mia. They look… not quite sad. Uncertain, maybe. Or vulnerable.”

“Like they’re on the edge of something,” Waverly whispers.

“Yeah,” Nicole says. And then she’s quiet. Waiting.

“Nicole?”

“Yeah?”

Waverly speaks so softly that Nicole can barely hear her when she asks, “Is that us? On the edge of something?” When Nicole doesn’t answer right away, Waverly lifts her head and shifts slightly to face her.

Nicole tries to read Waverly’s expression. She looks so serious, staring unblinkingly into Nicole’s eyes, waiting. Nicole scrambles to locate the correct answer, trying to pin down Waverly’s feelings for her. What does Waverly want? “I don’t know,” she says finally, truthfully. 

“You don’t?”

Nicole shrugs helplessly. “Is that what you want?”

“What do _you_ want?”

Nicole exhales slowly. She closes the book and sets it on the arm of the sofa, then pulls her legs up to her chest and turns fully toward Waverly. They lean sideways against the back of the sofa, mirroring one another, their feet touching. Waverly looks slightly panicked, so Nicole looks into her eyes, trying to tell her it's okay without words. She needs to take a different tack.

“I like you,” she says quietly. “Do y—do you?” 

Waverly nods, her cheek brushing against the cushion.

“I like you as more than a friend,” Nicole explains, her face burning. But she needs to be clear right now. “Is that how you feel, too?”

Waverly hesitates before nodding. 

“Are you sure? It’s okay if you don’t,” Nicole says, knowing full well that her heart will break if Waverly says no.

Waverly reaches out and brushes a fingertip across Nicole’s knuckles. “I’m scared,” she whispers, not looking at her.

“What are you scared of?”

Waverly's eyes dart up and then back down. “Everything. Doing something wrong.”

Nicole sighs softly. She unfolds her legs and slides an arm around Waverly’s shoulders. Waverly scoots closer, tenting her legs over Nicole’s lap so that she can lean into her, her head resting against Nicole's collarbone, arm draped over her waist.

Nicole presses a kiss against her hair and asks, “What makes you think you’ll do something wrong?”

Waverly shrugs beneath Nicole’s arm. “Because I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“What do you mean?” Nicole presses gently.

“I don’t know what it means to be—with a girl. There’s just so much about it that I don’t know. When I think about it, what it might mean, it’s so overwhelming. Telling people. Getting used to it. It’s just a lot. What if I screw it up? You’re so much more confident. You know so much more than I do.

“And I just keep thinking about the other night with Jeremy and Robin and thinking, who am I to…” She trails off.

“To what?” Nicole asks. “To have feelings for a girl?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“It’s not like it was your decision,” Nicole points out. “You’re not doing anything wrong by having feelings. And I’m not all that confident, you know.”

Waverly leans her head back, staring up at Nicole. Their faces are inches apart. “I feel like a fake,” she whispers.

Nicole rubs a hand up and down Waverly’s denim-clad shin. “Waverly,” she says. “If you’re telling the truth about how you feel, how could you possibly be a fake?”

“I don’t know. I don’t trust myself, I guess. How do I know if what I’m feeling is… real?”

“Whatever you’re feeling is okay. Your feelings aren't lying to you.”

“But how do I _know_ what I’m feeling?” Waverly sounds frustrated now. 

Nicole sighs again, nearing frustration herself at her inability to help. “I mean, do you—want to kiss me?” she asks haltingly. Waverly bites her lip nervously in response, and an idea pops into Nicole’s head. _Th_ _e hell with it,_ she thinks. She’ll throw caution to the wind. 

“You know how I know I want to kiss you?” Her voice shakes. She plays with a lock of Waverly’s hair. “Every time I look at you, my heart starts beating faster. I get this feeling in my chest, like a warmth that spreads out everywhere.” Her eyes keep darting away from Waverly, but Waverly’s eyes are locked on Nicole’s. 

“When we touch,” Nicole continues, her face hot, her voice barely more than a whisper, “I feel like I can’t breathe. In a good way. And I feel like I could listen to you talk forever, about literally anything, and never get bored.”

Waverly swallows. 

“That’s how I know,” Nicole finishes, somewhat lamely, with a shrug.

Waverly takes a deep, wavering breath. “Okay,” she breathes.

“Okay?”

“I want to kiss you.”

And she does. Waverly puts a gentle hand on Nicole’s face and kisses her. 

*****

Nicole had planned to leave the library at a reasonable hour, but that thought flies out the window as soon as Waverly’s tongue, warm and wet and soft, touches hers. 

Waverly may be unsure of her words, but Nicole knows instantly that she is confident in her body. She knows how to kiss. _God,_ does she know how. The movement of her lips seems to sweep the air clean out of Nicole’s body, leaving her breathless. Unwilling to move away, she settles for breathing heavily against Waverly’s mouth in between kisses, which only makes Waverly kiss her more urgently. She slides a hand around to the back of Nicole’s neck to pull her closer. 

Nicole has never been kissed like this before. She’s always imagined it would take some practice, but it’s easier, much more intuitive, than she’d expected. At any rate, she lets Waverly take the lead while she settles into the feeling of the kiss and gets her bearings. 

Waverly varies the pace expertly, sliding her tongue slowly against Nicole’s before kissing her harder, even sucking Nicole’s bottom lip into her mouth once or twice. Nicole’s body is aching for it, every cell pulsing and trembling and on fire. She puts a hand on Waverly’s waist, squeezing, wanting to touch so much more but not daring to let her hands roam freely.

They kiss until Nicole's lips feel swollen, until she's throbbing between her legs, until she's certain she’s about to explode. Then, as if sensing it, Waverly slows things down. She smiles and pulls back a little, then kisses Nicole again, slowly and gently, and then again, and once more.

Nicole squeezes her eyes shut and breathes, trying to calm her racing heart. She smiles helplessly and cups Waverly’s cheek, rubbing a thumb over her soft skin. 

 _Please be sure about this,_ she doesn’t say. _Please don’t break me._

“I want this,” Waverly whispers, her breath still coming fast. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Waverly nods and takes a deep breath. “But—Nicole, can you… will you...”

Nicole slides her hand down the side of Waverly’s neck and presses her forehead against hers. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’ll be here with you. For all of it.”

Waverly exhales and nods. “Thank you,” she whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life is busy. Writing is slow. 
> 
> Simultaneously working on a Wayhaught (+ Wynhaught) one-shot loosely based on my experience doing a drag king performance over the weekend. Stay tuned. Also--still working up the courage to post a pic of said performance on Twitter. So maybe, if you're interested, keep half an eye on me @prayingitsgay.
> 
> I'd be ever so grateful for your comments/thoughts, as ever and always.
> 
> Love to you all. 
> 
> Tea


	12. In which Waverly, Nicole, and Jeremy fail at sledding

Nicole glances at the basket on the floor beside the classroom door, where Ms. O’Rourke requires her students to park their phones at the beginning of the period. It’s piled high with devices, a couple of them lit up with incoming messages. She’s itching to continue texting Waverly. It’s not as though they’d been talking about anything important, it’s just that flirting has become one of her favorite pastimes. She’s pretty sure she’s used more emojis this past week than she has in all her years of having a phone. 

As their physics teacher drones on, adding equations to a diagram drawn on the whiteboard, Jeremy slides his notebook toward Nicole. He’s sitting next to her at their black-topped lab table, directly in front of an enormous insect collection mounted to the left of the whiteboard.

Nicole reads the three words scribbled in the left hand margin. _You ok dude?_

She nods at Jeremy in lieu of writing back, shrugging her shoulders tiredly. He gives her a skeptical, wrinkled-eyebrow look and mouths, _What’s up?_

 _Nothing._ A shake of the head.

Jeremy opens his mouth, then seems to change his mind and picks up his pen. _You seem distracted_ , he scribbles, _despite Ms. O’s RIVETING lecture._

Nicole smiles a little, plucks the pen from his fingers and pauses. 

Although they’ve been texting incessantly, she and Waverly have hardly seen each other since leaving the library a few days ago--not beyond a few stolen words at a locker before first bell, or secret smiles exchanged across crowded hallways. She’s not sure if it’s okay to tell Jeremy about the kissing. She supposes that would be outing, and that makes her feel squidgy, so instead she jots below Jeremy’s notes: _Stressed about graduating._ It’s not untrue.

 _Ah,_ Jeremy mouths, nodding in sympathy. He pats her arm where it rests on the tabletop. _Talk later?_ he writes.

Nicole nods and gives him a small smile. She goes back to daydreaming about Waverly, staring blankly at a large praying mantis on the wall ahead of her, its pale, crepe-paper wings pinned on either side of its fragile body.

It’s not as if she thought Waverly would start holding her hand as they walked down the hallway, or drag her into a bathroom stall during passing periods to make out under the cover of flushing toilets. Waverly has friends to sit with at lunch and practice in the evenings. They both have adults at home expecting an explanation when they leave the house.

They’re not even dating. At least, she doesn’t think they are. Not technically.

Plus, neither of them are out. In fact, Nicole’s not even sure that _she_ would be ready to hold hands at school. (Making out in the bathroom is a different story.)

She just wants to spend time with Waverly. That’s all. Waverly has taken up residence in her heart and her brain, and Nicole is still awestruck at her luck, still afraid to let herself be fully happy. She’s just not sure yet how they’re supposed to move forward, and she’s scared that if she doesn’t figure it out, Waverly will lose interest.

*****

By the time school lets out for the day, the cars in the parking lot are cloaked in a thick layer of soft, white snow, and big flakes are still falling fast from the blank sky.

“Wow,” Jeremy breathes, gazing around in wonder as they crunch their way toward Nicole’s car, their steps an exaggerated march.

“You act like you’ve never seen snow before.” As Nicole opens the trunk of her car to find her scraper, her jeans are showered with a flurry of loosened flakes. She sighs in annoyance.

“Um, excuse me,” Jeremy says. “It’s beautiful. Don’t you think? It even makes the school look nice.”

“No, because I can’t run in it,” Nicole grumps, glancing back at the building. It does look rather picturesque, with its tall windows and yellow brick blunted by the snowfall, but she’s not in the mood to admit it. Wielding the brush with both hands, she sweeps swaths of heavy snow off her windshield, lifting the wipers so that she can run the thick bristles underneath and then snapping them back into place. 

“Sure you can. Watch.” Jeremy takes a few tentative running steps and then stops suddenly, knees slightly bent. He holds his flailing arms out to maintain balance as the bottoms of his shoes slide about a meter along the slick asphalt between cars.

“You’re gonna break your leg.”

“Come on!” he says. “You should try it.”

“No.”

“Awww. Okay.” Giving up on fun, Jeremy uses a mittened hand to sweep sparkling streaks of snow off the passenger side windows. Inside the car he asks Nicole if she wants to watch a movie at his house. “Robin has orchestra practice late. We could catch up.”

“Sure.” Nicole unlocks her phone to check her texts before starting the engine. There are several from Waverly.

Practice is cancelled! SNOW! Have you left yet?  
If not, can I have a ride home?  
_Hang out with me? Pretty please?  
_I miss you :) 

“Actually....” Nicole says to Jeremy, casting around for some kind of excuse. She wishes she hadn’t agreed to hang out with him so quickly, then she immediately feels guilty for it. “Waverly just texted me to see if I want to hang out. Do you mind if she comes, too?”

“Oh! _Ohhhh,”_ Jeremy says, widening his eyes at her. “ _Definitely_ you should invite Waverly.”

Pretending he’s not being totally weird about it, Nicole says, “Okay, cool,” and texts Waverly back.

*****

“Can we go sledding?” are the first words out of Waverly’s mouth as she climbs in the backseat of Nicole’s car, bringing a thin flurry of snow and the ache of cold air inside with her. “Hi, Jeremy! Hey, Nicole.” She reaches a hand up and squeezes Nicole’s shoulder, smiling at her in the rearview mirror. Nicole’s stomach flutters as she smiles back, and her bad mood instantly evaporates. 

“Hey, Waves.” Jeremy turns in his seat to look at Waverly, grinning broadly. Nicole glances sideways at him. _Waves?_ How can he so unself-consciously start using that charming nickname? She’s annoyed that she’s jealous of him.

“Do you know a good place to sled?” Nicole asks, returning her attention to Waverly.

“Yeah, silly! The old slag pile across the tracks. Near that old building that used to be a clothing factory? _Best_ slope in town.” 

“That’s a slag pile?”

“Mm-hmm.” Waverly nods happily.

“Huh. I thought it was just a regular hill. Is it… safe?” Nicole asks. She pulls slowly out of the parking lot and onto the not-yet-plowed road, following the dark tracks of the cars that went before her.

“Oh, totally. Gus and Curtis have been taking me there since I was little. It’s mostly covered in grass now. Well, you’ve seen it.”

“But there’s no, like, hole in the ground, is there?”

“Nicole Haught,” Jeremy says in mock amazement, “are you—dare I say it—chicken?”

Nicole, wanting to keep both hands on the wheel, resists the urge to sock him in the arm. Her face is hot. She glances at Waverly in the rearview; her eyes are sparkling with warmth and amusement. 

“It’s a valid question,” Waverly says pointedly, poking Jeremy in the shoulder. “We wouldn’t want to go flying on our sleds into a giant, gaping hole, would we? But no, it was filled a long time ago. They don’t mine there anymore.”

“What did they mine? Whoa!” Jeremy braces a hand against the dashboard as the car slides on the slippery pavement.

“Calm your tits,” Nicole says, glancing at the traction control light flashing orange on her dash.  She steers the wheel gently back and forth, feeling the brakes pump themselves and the wheels catch again as she approaches a stop sign. “Sorry, guys. It’s pretty slick out.” She doesn’t mention that she’d been distracted, watching Waverly in the rearview.

“You’re doing a great job,” Waverly says, reaching up to squeeze her shoulder again. She leaves her hand there, and the warmth of it seems to permeate Nicole’s layers of clothing. “Anyway. Some kind of gemstone or something. I can’t remember what it’s called.”

“Maybe we’ll find some,” Jeremy says.

Waverly laughs. “We can only hope!”

* * *

 Waverly, somehow, is the only one who owns sleds—one plastic and one wooden with runners—so she and Nicole decide to share the wooden one while Jeremy gets the plastic, which is cracked on the bottom but largely functional. Nicole insists on holding the rope as they scale the hill; the sled trails behind her as they trudge along, breathing heavily and occasionally slipping to a knee.

“Dang,” Jeremy pants as they crest the slagpile. He fans himself with a mittened hand. “How is it possible that I’m sweating?”

The white landscape, dotted with dark smatterings of trees, stretches before them, seeming to reflect the white sky. Waverly turns in a slow circle, gazing at Purgatory and the Ghost River Triangle stretching behind it, appreciating its stark beauty. But there’s a bleakness to it as well. 

Waverly’s been sledding on this hill for years, but being here with Nicole makes everything feel new and different. She knows that Nicole has spent her life here in the Triangle, but Waverly has been taken with a crazy desire to share with Nicole the things that are important to her.

She turns back to Nicole, who pulls her hat off and drops it on the ground beside them. A few staticky hairs float above her head; her cheeks are red from exertion. Waverly imagines falling with her into the snow. 

“Okay, so how do we do this?” Nicole asks.

Waverly looks at the sleds perched side by side at the top of the hill. “Wanna go together?” she asks hopefully.

“Okay.” Nicole smiles at her. 

“I’ll be in front.” Waverly straddles the sled and then turns around, pointing a warning finger at Nicole. “If we crash, you better not squish me.”

“You mean you wouldn’t sacrifice yourself to cushion my fall?”

Waverly’s eyes crinkle into half moons as she smiles at Nicole, reaching a hand out. “Come on. Have you ever used a sled with runners?”

“Nope. I thought these were like, vintage.” Nicole grabs her hand and climbs on behind her, taking care not to push them over the edge before they’re ready. 

“They’re the best,” Waverly says. “Put your feet here.” She picks up one of Nicole’s booted feet, positioning it beside her and patting it fondly once it’s in place. Even through all their layers, something inside her tingles at the pressure of Nicole’s legs on either side of her hips and Nicole’s chest against her back.

Beside them, Jeremy takes a running start and belly flops onto his sled. “I’m going!” he announces unnecessarily, shooting over the edge of the hill head first. He makes it about a quarter of the way down before his sled scrapes to a stop in the thick snow. 

He rolls off the plastic flyer. “Well, that was exciting,” he calls. “Um, guys? I think it might not be good sledding snow.” 

“But there’s a layer of packed snow underneath…” Waverly calls down to him.

“Yeah, but I think the new snow’s too deep.” He straightens the sled on the snow, gets another running start, and slides a couple more meters downhill before stopping.

“Oh,” Waverly whines softly, her heart sinking in disappointment, her shoulders drooping. “Fudge nuggets.”

“Let’s just try it,” Nicole says, slipping her arms around Waverly’s waist. “Hm?” She nudges Waverly’s ear with her nose, which makes Waverly laugh as her stomach flips, and then scoots them forward until the nose of the sled is sloping downward. They creep forward, and then… they stop, not having gone even a meter. The runners are sunk completely into the snow.

They sit there for a moment, and then Nicole laughs suddenly, the sound bursting out of her as though she’d been trying to hold it in for Waverly’s sake. Waverly twists around to grin at her with delight. Her laugh is like a bell, and Waverly’s not sure she’s ever heard her laugh so hard. And then Waverly is laughing, too, leaning back against Nicole until they both roll off the sled together, Waverly in Nicole’s arms. 

“Worst Canadians ever,” Waverly groans, and she feels Nicole’s lips press against her temple as she kisses her fast once, twice, three times, her nose cold but her mouth warm. 

Waverly turns to look at her, wanting so badly to kiss her on the lips. “Have you told Jeremy?” she asks quietly. When Nicole shakes her head, she asks, “Are you going to?”

“Would that be okay with you?” Nicole asks.

“Yeah.” Waverly smiles. “He’s your friend.”

“And he’s gay,” Nicole says, and then her face freezes. “Um, not that you’re—I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Waverly says quickly, her heart pounding. “It’s okay.” 

“Guys!” Jeremy’s voice rings out from the bottom of the hill. “I found the old hole! Well, sort of. Come look!”

Nicole helps Waverly to her feet, and they stumble their way down, coated in snow and grasping one another’s mittened hands. The hill is so steep they involuntarily gather speed until they’re almost running, unable to slow themselves on the slippery ground. As they near the trees at the bottom, a terrified-looking Jeremy positions himself with open arms in front of Waverly. She slams into him, and they topple into the snow.

“Oh god, oh god!” Nicole stops her feet abruptly, falls purposely onto her butt and then slides forward, one knee colliding with a skinny tree.

Waverly gasps when she hears Nicole groan. She scrambles off of Jeremy and makes her way toward her. “Nicole! Are you okay?” She kneels beside her.

“Yeah. My jeans aren’t, though.” Nicole sits up to survey the damage. The denim is ripped at the knee, blood seeping into the edges of the fabric.

“Oh, geez, you’re bleeding,” Waverly frets, her hands hovering over Nicole’s knee. “We need to go clean that. Can you stand?”

“Yeah.” Nicole winces as she pushes herself to her feet, taking Waverly’s proffered hand gratefully. “It’s not that bad. Just stings a little.” She takes a tentative step. “Ooh, and definitely gonna have a bruise.”

“I’m okay over here, too,” Jeremy says, dusting snow off his lap and straightening his hat as he gets to his feet. “All clear. Don’t worry about me.”

“Sorry, Jeremy,” Waverly says with a grimace. “You okay?”

“That’s what you get for being valiant,” Nicole says without sympathy, but teasingly. “Glad to know that in an emergency, Waverly is your priority.”

“It was a split-second decision!” Jeremy says. “And… you’re a lot taller.”

“True. I’d have taken you out. With pleasure.”

“Guys,” Waverly says, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “We’d better get you home, Nicole. I want to clean that and get a bandage on it. Why don’t you go get in the car, and Jeremy and I will grab our stuff?”

*****

“So, I didn’t see any giant hole in the ground,” Nicole says as she drives them slowly toward Jeremy’s house. Purgatory’s fleet of snow plows are out in full force. Most of the roads have been cleared, but with big flakes still coming down, the asphalt is slick with a thin layer of gray slurry.

“Well, okay, it wasn’t really a hole. It’s all filled in. There are even trees growing from it,” Jeremy says from the back seat. “But you can see where the outline has been marked with stones, and there was a little sign that said they used to mine ammolite there.”

“Ammolite,” Waverly says, and it’s like a bell has been struck inside her. “That’s right.” In a flash she’s a kid at the Homestead again, poking at what looks like a homemade wind chime or mobile hanging between the kitchen and living room. At the end of each dangling string is tied an iridescent, rainbow-bright sliver of something. _Ammolite_.

She hasn’t thought of that thing in years. Dredging it up now from deep within the recesses of her memory has her heart racing, almost as though she’s afraid that other memories—worse memories—might slip in along with this one while the door is open.

Did Mama make that thing? Is it still there? Had it been hanging there when she and Nicole had been at the Homestead? She’s not sure, and that irritates her. 

There’s something about ammolite. Mama and Daddy had a _thing_ with it, a special liking for it.

“It’s a gemstone, you said?” Nicole asks her, her voice a distant knock at the door of Waverly’s thoughts.

Waverly drags herself away from her memories with some effort. “Um,” she says softly, “yeah…” Fingernails scratch gently against the top of her thigh. She looks down at Nicole’s hand, and then up at her face.

“You okay?” Nicole asks quietly, a small frown creasing her brow. 

Waverly wraps her hand around Nicole’s and nods. Nicole squeezes her fingers, and Waverly’s heart lifts briefly, but she can’t shake the fuzzy feeling of being too in her head.

*****

 After dropping Jeremy at home (“I think I’ve had enough fun for one night”), Nicole and Waverly go to Nicole’s, where they unearth a box of Band-Aids from behind the mirror in the downstairs bathroom. They’re so old that the paper wrappers have begun to yellow. “Well,” Waverly says disapprovingly, “these’ll have to do.” 

She puts the toilet lid down and asks Nicole to remove her pants before sitting. Nicole does so carefully, balling her snow-dampened jeans in her lap as Waverly kneels in front of her with a warm, damp washcloth in hand. Waverly tries hard to keep her eyes on Nicole’s injury.

“Sledding was a bit of a disaster, huh?” she asks, dabbing at the blood on the skin around the scrape, willing her arm not to shake too badly. She slides her left hand around to the back of Nicole’s calf to steady herself. 

“I dunno,” Nicole says, wincing as Waverly touches a particularly sore spot. She shrugs a shoulder shyly. “I kinda liked it.”

“Really?” Waverly looks up at her, relieved to see her smile and nod sincerely. “Well, I’m sorry you got hurt.”

“It’s okay. I’m not that hurt.”

Waverly hums skeptically and returns her attention to Nicole’s knee. “Just let me take care of you,” she says quietly, surprising herself. Her eyes dart briefly up to Nicole’s. “I want to.”

Nicole nods. Waverly hears her swallow. She glances up at Nicole’s face again and sees her chewing her lip nervously, so she offers a gentle smile, which Nicole returns. Waverly’s heart rate picks up as they look each other in the eye, the moment stretching on. 

Then, “Winter break is coming up,” Nicole says suddenly.

Waverly looks down again, at the fresh, bright blood welling up against Nicole’s broken but clean skin. “Got any plans?” she reaches up to the counter for the bandage, peeling open the brittle paper wrapper.

“I thought maybe we could hang out, if you’re not busy,” Nicole says tentatively, as Waverly carefully smoothes the Band-Aid over her knee. “Thank you. That feels a lot better.”

Waverly smiles up at her. “I’d love to hang out.” She runs a finger absentmindedly down Nicole’s shin. “I’m sorry I’m so busy normally, with practice and everything. I feel like I’ve barely had time to see you the last few days. But I promise I’ll have a lot more free time over break.”

“Good,” Nicole says, smiling. “And I totally get it, you being busy. I know you’re busy.”

They stand, Nicole still holding her bunched jeans awkwardly against her chest. Noticing this, Waverly sidesteps her, moving to the sink to rinse out the rag and wash her own hands, giving Nicole time to get dressed.

“Um, I thought maybe I could… take you out on… a date?” Nicole says, zipping her jeans in the doorway as Waverly dries her hands. 

A thrill shoots through Waverly’s body. A date. A date with Nicole. Nicole wants to take her on a date. How has she not considered this terrifying but brilliant possibility before now? “That sounds awesome,” she says quickly. “I’d love that.”

Nicole looks down shyly, her lips curving up into a pleased smile. “Cool. Um, wanna go hang in my room? I’m not sure when my parents will be home.”

*****

When Waverly confesses that she’s never seen an episode of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ , she thinks Nicole’s eyes might pop right out of her head in disbelief. Making an executive decision, Nicole slides awell-worn disc into her DVD player before climbing onto the bed beside Waverly. She arrows through the episodes before settling on one.

“Shouldn’t we start with episode one?” Waverly asks, crunching on a chip. Propped against Nicole’s headboard, she lifts the bag of Ketchup-flavored Lays onto her lap so that Nicole can sit beside her.

“Rookie mistake,” Nicole insists, reaching into the bag. “They were just finding their footing in season one. You can go back and watch all of them once you love the characters; then the ridiculous plotlines won’t turn you away. I mean, some of those  episodes are just.” She shakes her head. “The praying mantis! But you should see this one. It's important for the plot.” 

“O _kaaay_ ,” Waverly says, giggling. “So, and this is just a wild guess here, but… she hunts vampires?”

“Yes, but that’s only the tip of the iceberg.” Nicole waves a chip around as she talks. “There are also the monsters of the week. But the show is really about _so_ much more than that. I mean, sure, it’s got its problems, but still.”

Waverly glances sideways at her, one corner of her mouth turning up in a smile. Seeing Nicole so enthusiastic about something, her face wide and open, eyes sparkling, makes her heart swell. She wants to know about everything that excites Nicole. “You’re cute,” she says impulsively.

Nicole’s cheeks flush red, and Waverly’s eyes follow the hand she runs nervously through her hair. “Sorry. I get carried away about… nerdy things.”

The chip bag makes a crinkling sound as Waverly leans into Nicole to kiss her on the cheek. “Yeah. And it’s _really_ cute,” she says.

Nicole wrinkles her nose and reaches for the bag of chips. “Don’t distract me when _Buffy_ is on, please.” Waverly can tell she’s trying not to smile as she pops a folded chip into her mouth. 

“I would never,” Waverly insists. She runs her palm up Nicole’s forearm and then back down, feeling the soft, fine hairs against her palm, before grabbing her hand and lifting. Nicole drapes her arm over Waverly’s shoulders obligingly, snugging her in close as she presses play on the remote. Truth be told, Waverly's always been a little bit wary of  _Buffy_ , suspecting the subject matter had the potential to bring forth painful memories, even flashbacks. But there's no way to explain that to Nicole, and anyway, with Nicole's arm around her, she feels more confident than usual.

* * *

About halfway through their second episode, Nicole’s body is thrumming with arousal from the simple, prolonged contact with Waverly when she hears the front door open and close downstairs. 

“Nicole?” comes the call soon afterward. Nicole groans, her heart sinking, and Waverly looks at her. “My mom.”

Footsteps, a quick knock at the door, and then Mrs. Haught’s head is poking through the crack in the doorway. “Honey—oh!” she says, noticing that her daughter has company. “Can I come in?”

Nicole swings her legs hurriedly over the edge of her bed, thinking, _No, please no_. “Hey, Mom. Um, this is Waverly. Earp. My friend.”

Her mom enters, still dressed in work clothes, her hair slightly disheveled as usual. “Hi, Waverly,” she says, approaching with her hand held out. Nicole watches as Waverly scrambles to slide off the bed and shake her hand properly.

“Hi, Mrs. Haught,” she says brightly. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too. You said Earp? Earp… How do I know that name?”

Nicole reluctantly pauses _Buffy_ as her mom leans casually back against the edge of her desk, legs crossed at the ankles as she studies Waverly, who waits silently with a small smile on her face. “I went to the bonfire with her,” she reminds her mom.

“Maybe that’s it,” Mrs. Haught says. “Tell me about yourself, Waverly. Are you in Nicole’s year? How long have you two been friends? What do your parents do?”

Nicole sighs, but Waverly answers the questions as best she can, politely evading the parent question by explaining that she lives with her aunt and uncle. Nicole’s shoulders are so tense she thinks something might snap. Something definitely _will_ if her mom keeps asking insensitive questions.

“Has Nicole told you she’s thinking of applying to a police academy?” Mrs. Haught asks Waverly, a stiff smile fixed on her face.

“Um,” Waverly says, glancing uncertainly at Nicole.

“Mom,” Nicole interrupts. “We were kind of watching something.”

“Well. Waverly, do me a favor and convince her to do something more reasonable with her life,” Mrs. Haught says, laughing. Nicole feels her face burning as she stands there, fidgeting beside her bed.

“Well, let me know if you’ll be staying for dinner,” her mom says to Waverly. “Have fun with your show.” She kisses the side of Nicole’s face before she leaves, but Nicole feels frozen in place, unable to look up or acknowledge her.

As the door closes behind her mother, she can feel the prickle of Waverly’s eyes on her. “Sorry about that,” she says, taking a steadying breath, her eyes still cast downward. The bed creaks quietly, and she looks up to see Waverly on her knees, moving toward her across the mattress. She stops in front of Nicole. With Waverly kneeling, they’re almost eye to eye. She’s so close that Nicole can feel the heat from her body. 

“You okay?” Waverly rests a gentle hand on each of Nicole’s shoulders.

“Yeah.” Nicole meets her eyes.

“Hey,” Waverly whispers, sliding her cool hands up either side of Nicole’s neck. She inches forward until their bellies are pressed together, and Nicole puts her hands on Waverly’s waist. It’s partly to steady herself; her breath is coming faster already, her body warming at Waverly’s touch. 

Waverly kisses her soft and slow, her hands cradling Nicole’s face, her lips chasing from Nicole’s mind all thoughts of the academy and applications and her mother and replacing them with a sort of disbelieving happiness. She still can’t believe that Waverly actually wants to do this with _her_. 

After a moment Waverly pulls back just enough to rest her forehead against Nicole’s. Nicole opens her eyes, and Waverly’s are right there, deep as the blue-gray sea and looking directly into hers. Into _her._ Nicole’s never been good at eye contact, but in this moment she feels completely vulnerable, and completely okay with it.

Waverly sighs contentedly and says slowly, softly, “I can’t wait to spend every. Single. Free moment of break with you.”

“Yeah?”

She smiles and leans in. “Yeah,” she says against Nicole’s lips, right before she kisses her again. Nicole tugs Waverly closer at the waist, although it doesn’t feel nearly close enough. One of Waverly’s hands slides around to the back of her neck and slips into her hair. She almost groans when Waverly pulls away again.

“Nicole? I think it’s great that you know what you want to do with your life,” she says. “Even if your mom doesn’t approve. You know yourself.”

Nicole sighs. “I guess.”

“I mean it.” Waverly puts a finger under Nicole’s chin, tipping her face up so that she can meet her eyes. “I really admire that.”

Nicole presses her lips together. “I’m not doing it to, like, stick it to my parents. Or to be different from them. It’s not about them, you know? It’s about me.”

Waverly nods. “I know.” 

“I don’t think they know that.”

“Have you told them?”

Nicole shrugs. “No. I finished my application, though. I’m going to send it.” 

Waverly smiles and kisses her gently. Nicole thinks she catches a flash of something sad or regretful in her eyes, so she pulls her closer, kisses her harder. Her heart jolts when Waverly’s hands drop to her waist and slip underneath her sweater, her fingers cool and smooth as they move around to the small of her back. She’s so focused on the feeling of Waverly’s hands against her skin and Waverly’s mouth against hers that she just stands stock still, lost in it. 

When Waverly’s thumb brushes the band of her sports bra, Nicole breaks the kiss, breathing hard, her mind pinging in a dozen directions. 

“You okay?” Waverly asks.

“Yeah. It’s just,” Nicole says, panting, "my mom. I can’t.” She can’t explain it. She just feels claustrophobic and self-conscious, knowing her mom is in the house, was _right there_ in her room a moment ago.

“That’s okay,” Waverly whispers. “We’ll have lots of time over break.”

The words send a bolt of heat straight from Nicole’s stomach down between her legs. Her heart thumps nervously. Judging by Waverly’s soft smile, she doesn’t think she meant to imply anything by it, but Nicole can’t help thinking about… going further. “Yeah,” she breathes.

Waverly sits back on the bed, scoots to the head, pulling Nicole by one hand. “Come on. Should we finish the episode?”

Nicole nods, trying for a casual smile. “Yep.” She joins Waverly on the bed.

“You okay?” Waverly leans her head against Nicole's shoulder. 

“Yep.”

“You sure?"

Nicole takes Waverly's hand in hers and rubs her thumb softly along the back of it, over the bumps of her knuckles. "I'm sure."

Waverly squeezes Nicole's fingers. "Okay."

Nicole, mind churning, presses play.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've finally got my outline done, and hopefully things will move more quickly from here on out. Can't thank everyone enough for reading--I've never had anything like this experience before, writing for such an amazing fandom. It's an honor.
> 
> Edited to add: It has come to my attention that not everyone knows what a slag pile is. We had one in my hometown, and I used to play on it all the time. There was also one in the next town over, where my grandma lived, so I spent a fair bit of time on it, too. They were made of waste from a very old coal mine that had long been filled in. We called them "the jumbos." I've pinned a few pictures of the slag piles from my childhood on my Twitter (@prayingitsgay), if you'd like to see.


	13. In which Waverly has a research breakthrough

On the first day of winter break, Waverly is woken bright and early by the scrape of shovels and soft thump of snow below her window. Her heartbeat immediately speeds to a gallop in her chest as she remembers that Nicole asked her out on a date. For a moment she lies there, savoring the thought, thinking of Nicole and of winter break and all it holds stretching deliciously before her.

Finally, with some effort, she swings her legs over the edge of the bed and sits, yawning and rubbing a hand sleepily through the tumbling mess of her hair. 

At the window she stands with a soft fleece blanket wrapped around her shoulders and squints with sleep-swollen mole eyes against the bright, gray light. It snowed overnight, again, and quite a lot. Curtis is clearing the porch steps, and Gus is making headway on the sidewalk, heaving great piles of white to the side. The snow explodes into glittering clouds as it leaves the shovel. Both her aunt and uncle are wearing Carhartt jackets and heavy Sorels. 

Impulsively, Waverly raps her knuckles against the cold window pane. Curtis looks up, using a bare hand to shield his eyes from the winter sun. He grins good-naturedly at her as she waves, then swings his arm through the air in a get-your-butt-down-here gesture. 

Waverly pulls on a sweater, unplugs her phone and makes her way downstairs, texting Nicole as she goes.

 _Hey, cutie. Just thinkin about that date you promised me._ 😀 _PS It’s winter break!!!_

Poking her head out the front door, she coughs when the cold hits her throat. Outside the air is still, and apart from the muffled crunch of snow, it’s quiet. For a moment she just looks, appreciating the unblemished blanket of snow and the drooping weight of the evergreen boughs on the edge of their property. “Hey, Uncle Curtis,” she says groggily, and then shouts a good morning to Gus, who waves.

“Ya got breakfast ready?” Curtis asks, planting his shovel in the snow so that it stands upright in front of him. 

“You wanted tofurkey sausage, right?” Waverly asks.

Curtis makes a rude sound and a facial expression to match. “Forget I asked.” He makes his way up the porch steps toward her, stomping his boots to dislodge bits of snow. “Somethin’ ain’t right here. Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” 

“It’s winter break, Uncle Curtis.”

“Nonsense,” he scoffs. “They go easy on you kids these days.”

Waverly snorts.

“Go on in. You’re lettin’ the cold air in. I’ll come in through the garage. Waverly—” He catches the screen door before it closes behind her. “We gotta talk, honey.”

His eyes are suddenly serious, and maybe a little worried, and Waverly’s winter-break high begins to dissipate. “Okay,” she says.

In the kitchen she makes herself busy, putting the kettle on for tea, dumping the inch of cold, leftover coffee and starting a new pot for Gus and Curtis. She wears her blanket like a shawl, trapped in the crook of both arms and so long it drags on the hardwood floor. 

Waiting at the table for the water to boil, her mood lifts again when she sees Nicole’s text: _Oh hey ☺️ I was just thinking about you._

Waverly: _Yeah? Well I thought about you as soon as I woke up. First thing. So there_

Nicole: _Noooo you didn’t. Don’t lie_

Waverly: _I would never. I kinda can’t stop thinking about you… and by kind of I mean totally. I totally can’t stop_

Nicole: _You’re crazy_

Waverly: _Maybe a little… for you_

Nicole: 😍 _I mean, it’s kinda mutual, so I guess it’s okay_

Waverly: 😍😍😍

Waverly: _What are you up to?_

Nicole: _Went for a run. So much slippery. Did some date planning_ 😏 _but I have to work this morning_

Waverly: _Boooo. Maybe I’ll come hang out?_

Nicole: _Please do. I’d love to see your face_

Waverly floats a few inches off her seat, buzzing with restored warmth and happiness. The kettle starts up a low whistle and she jumps up, switching off the flame as she reaches into the cupboard for a teapot.

She hears the garage door close, and then her aunt and uncle enter the kitchen, their cheeks red from cold and exertion. 

Gus flaps the front of her unbuttoned flannel shirt, fanning herself. “Whew! Nothing like a good morning workout, huh? Mornin’, hon.” She pecks Waverly on the cheek on her way to the coffee pot, her lips and nose like ice against Waverly’s skin.

“We’re running low on Ice Melt,” Curtis says, waving away Gus’s proffered mug of coffee. “I’m gonna head to the store. Whaddaya say to a trip into town, small fry? Wanna join me?”

“Can I shower first?” Waverly asks, but Uncle Curtis brushes her concerns aside.

“Put a hat on and no one’ll be the wiser,” he advises, and reluctantly Waverly agrees to accompany him.

 

* * *

 

Nicole’s head is everywhere but the library this morning. 

Well, it’s not really _everywhere_. Specifically it’s with Waverly, as she imagines date after possible date and pulls her phone out from under the counter every thirty seconds, hoping for another text. She’s reread today’s exchange twenty times already, and every single time it makes her stomach flutter.

She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Waverly she’d been doing some date planning. She had, sort of. In her head. While running. 

The thing is, she’s a bit paralyzed at the moment. It’s hit her that she really needs to do this right. This is Waverly Goddamn Earp ( _What is Waverly’s middle name?_ she wonders suddenly) and Nicole has never been on a date and has no idea what she’s doing, but she _cannot,_ under any circumstances, mess this up. This is their first official date, and hopefully, if it goes well, there will be many more dates after this one.

The pressure. 

She groans. A man glances over at her from one of the nearby armchairs, and Nicole quickly smiles and lifts a hand in an awkward wave. She groans again, but internally this time. 

She’s not used to working the library on a weekday morning. It’s mostly empty now, although soon enough it will be full of toddlers arriving for storytime with their parents, their happy shrieks cutting through the quiet.

Everything feels so much harder now that she and Waverly are… something. Now that they’ve kissed. Before, everything felt so natural, and now she can’t help but overthink everything she says and does. She’s so afraid of messing it up, of disappointing Waverly.

She pulls out a piece of scrap paper and begins scribbling a list of possible date ideas. It should be fun, but also romantic…

 

* * *

 

As soon as they’re in the pickup, inching their way along the still snow-coated country road into town, Curtis wastes no time in starting up a conversation. Waverly is a bit surprised. He usually tends to hem and haw his way around things, maybe getting to the point eventually, but maybe not. His directness worries her.

“I talked to Shorty,” he begins, and Waverly squeezes her eyes shut briefly, knowing where this is going. “Honey, did you take somethin’ from the trunk in the loft?”

Waverly sighs. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “Sorry. I found Daddy’s old journal and wanted to read it.”

“And then you took it to Shorty’s?” He doesn’t sound angry, just questioning.

Waverly nods, looking down at the travel mug of tea held between her hands. “Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean for him to see.”

Curtis scratches at his stubble, his fingers making a scraping sound that makes Waverly shiver inside. He seems to be thinking about what to say next. “I didn’t even know you’d gone back into the loft.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I was just… I was just so _curious,_  Uncle Curtis.” She thinks for a second and then continues, growing more animated. “That’s not even the right word. I feel like I _need_ to know. I do need to know. I need to know what happened and—and what’s _going_ to happen. To me. And Wynonna. Our family. I don’t know.” After a moment, she asks, “Isn’t that why you showed me the trunk?”

Curtis sighs and then chuckles once. “You got me there.” He glances at her warmly. “You’ve always been a smart one. Always questioning. Nothin’ wrong with that.”

Waverly’s lips curve up into a quick smile that doesn’t quite smooth the worry from her eyes.

Curtis turns into town, onto roads that have already been plowed. The streets are alive with folks sans coats but wearing hats and boots, clearing their drives and sidewalks before leaving for work, the busy hum of snowblowers adding a comforting sort of cheer to the air.

Curtis drives slowly, lifting a couple of fingers in a semi-salute now and then to people he knows.

“I know you want to know things, honey.” He turns a corner and picks up the conversation as if they hadn’t even paused. “You have a right to know.”

“But you want me to keep it on the down low, is that it?”

“Well, yes.”

“Why? Because people will think I’m just another crazy Earp girl?”

“Waverly—”

“You think it’ll just be Wynonna all over again?”

“Waverly, no.” Curtis pulls into the lot behind the hardware store, chooses a spot far from the building, with no other cars nearby. Killing the engine, he turns slightly toward Waverly, who is staring fiercely at him.

“Hon, you don’t know what it was like.”

“What _what_ was like?”

“When your dad—” He pauses. “He’d go on these… these rants. Ranting and raving about demons and curses and people being after him.

“People are afraid of that, Waverly. Purgatory is… it’s like everyone here turns a blind eye to what’s happening in the shadows. They don’t want to face it. And they’re _afraid_ of people who talk about it.”

Waverly shakes her head. “I know all that. I live here, Uncle Curtis, I— You think I don’t know how Wynonna was treated? It was the same thing, wasn’t it?”

“And you want that for yourself?” Uncle Curtis asks, his voice growing louder.

“No!” Waverly is frustrated now. “Uncle Curtis, I’m not going to go around talking about it willy nilly with anyone who will listen. You think this shit doesn’t follow me everywhere I go?”

“I know it does, and that’s why I want to protect you!” Uncle Curtis says. Then he seems to lose steam, sagging a bit, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Hon, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to argue with you, truly. I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protect—”

“Yes, you do,” Curtis interrupts. “You do, Waverly, and that’s my job, and goddammit, I’m not going to fail you like I failed Wynonna.” He rubs at his eyes again. They’re red and damp, and Waverly softens at the sight despite her annoyance. 

“And I’ve almost failed you already. Letting you take that diary out where anyone could see.” He shakes his head.

“You didn’t know,” Waverly says.

“I _should’ve_ known,” he says angrily. “It’s my responsibility. _You_ are my responsibility, Waverly. I should’ve explained to you.”

“Explained what?” Waverly asks. 

Curtis sighs, grabs the bill of his cap and adjusts it mindlessly. “I talked to Shorty the other day. He put me in my place. ‘Curtis,’ he says to me, ‘you’re puttin’ that girl in danger. There are… people… that would kill to get their hands on that diary.’

“And he’s right. He’s absolutely right, and I should’ve realized, and I should’ve told you before. You’re not the only one who wants to know what’s in that diary, and in those papers in the trunk.”

Waverly’s heart is racing to hear Curtis talk like this. She has a thousand questions, but she starts with the most important. “Who wants to know?”

“The people who killed your dad, for starters,” Curtis says quietly, dropping his gaze.

Waverly is gripped with sudden fear, as though those men might be lurking within earshot, watching her, eavesdropping. It’s an old fear, one she’s grown to ignore as time has gone by and she’s learned to feel safe, convincing herself that she’s not a target. 

“Are they after me?” she manages to ask, her voice strained. It’s a question she used to ask Curtis and Gus night after night when she was a child, waking screaming from nightmares in which the men returned, their gnarled hands reaching for her as Wynonna fumbled with a gun at her shoulder.

“No,” Curtis says immediately. “That’s one thing your dad was always clear about. It’s not you they’re interested in.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, honey.” This was not a reassuring answer.

“But they want Daddy’s stuff?”

“Yes,” Curtis says.

“Why?”

He hesitates. “I don’t rightly know. But I suspect they’re looking for ways to save their own skins.”

“Are they in Purgatory?” Waverly asks, the fear lingering.

“Shorty thinks—and I think he’s right—they’re bidin’ their time. In Purgatory? No, it doesn’t seem so. But nearby, maybe. Maybe livin’ in the woods, somewhere in the Triangle, probably. He thinks they have people working for them, or friends who are able to lie low, maybe even move about Purgatory without recognition.

“The thing is, we just don’t know. But if you’re seen with Ward’s things—it’s just not safe, you understand?”

Waverly nods, suddenly ashamed for having been so careless with her father’s journal. “How do you know they’re after Daddy’s stuff?”

“The Homestead’s been broken into time and again,” Curtis says. “Could just be kids messin’ around, but the way the place’s been ransacked makes me think it was… _them.”_

 _God,_ Waverly thinks, _and Nicole and I just walked on in… What if they’d been there? What if they’d hurt her?_ She shivers, noticing the visible steam of her breath. They interior of the truck has rapidly cooled, but neither of them moves.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” she asks, although she knows the answer even before Curtis says it.

“I didn’t want to scare you.” He shakes his head. “Gus and I, we wanted you to have as normal a childhood as possible, after what’d happened. Especially Gus. She forbade me from telling you anything, from talking about any of this with you. Thought it’d poison you, somehow. Put ideas in your head.”

“As if I didn’t already have ideas in my head,” Waverly says, but Curtis ignores this.

“You’re older now and askin’ about it yourself. I know Gus wouldn’t be happy if she knew I was tellin’ you all this, but I think there comes a point where you’re safer _knowin’_ than you are not knowin’.” 

Waverly nods and then lets her gaze drop to her lap as she tries to wrap her head around everything she’s just learned, but it’s going to take a while. She needs time to think. She takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly. “Okay,” she breathes, trying to calm herself.

“You okay, honey?” Curtis asks, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Waverly nods. “Just thinking.”

“You’ll let me know if you have more questions,” Curtis says gently, and she nods again. They sit in silence for a solid minute before Curtis says, “Let’s go on in.”

 

* * *

 

Waverly never shows up at the library, although Nicole has kept an eye on the door all day, hoping to see her walk through it. When Jeremy arrives for his shift as she’s leaving at two o’clock, she snags him in the staff room.

“How’s your knee?” he asks, kicking his boots off to reveal a pair of socks with tiny ice cream cones on them. He pulls a pair of tennis shoes out of his backpack and starts to untie them.

“What? Oh, it’s fine,” Nicole says, distracted. “So listen, I need help. I’m, uh, taking Waverly on a date.” She whispers the last few words.

“What? Nicole!” Jeremy laughs and hits her on the arm. “Get outta here!”

“Shhh!” Nicole glances around, although everyone else is out front and probably can’t hear them. “Geez.”

“Sorry,” Jeremy says. “But oh my god. Dude. Why didn’t you tell me? How did it—what? So she’s into girls? Dude! I don’t even know where to begin. I can’t believe you asked her out!”

“Yeah,” Nicole says, smiling and neglecting to tell him that they’ve been making out with some regularity. “But I have no idea where to take her on a date. I feel like it has to be perfect, and romantic, but like chill because it’s a first date, and I also want to go somewhere we can actually talk, and—”

“Whoa,” Jeremy says, holding his hand up. “Okay. First of all, don’t worry so much about it. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Or like, traditional date stuff. Think of something that you’d like to do with _her._ And then go from there, okay? Does that make sense?”

“I guess?”

“I just feel like you’re overthinking it. Because it’s you.”

“Thanks,” Nicole says flatly.

“I say that with love,” Jeremy says.

Nicole rolls her eyes. 

“Hey. You’ve got this,” Jeremy says. “You’re like, the coolest girl I know. She’s lucky to get a date with you.”

Nicole snorts. “Please. I’m the lucky one.”

“Don’t contradict me,” Jeremy says. He glances at his watch. “I gotta go clock in, but I want to hear more later. When is the date?”

Nicole shrugs. “I was thinking tomorrow if I could get it together in time.”

“Totally doable. I’ll text you later, okay? Keep me updated.”

“Okay.” Nicole pulls her hat on. “Have a good shift.”

“Thanks.” Jeremy punches her once more for good measure and as he heads to the front desk he sings, “I’m so freaking excited for you!” which makes Nicole laugh.

 

*****

 

_Sorry I didn’t come see you. Had to run some errands with my uncle._

Back home in her room, Nicole texts Waverly back. _No worries._ 😊 _So, about that date._

Waverly: 🥰😍🥰😍

Nicole: _Can you do tomorrow?_

Waverly:  _YES_

Waverly: _Where are we going?_

Nicole: _It’s a surprise_

Nicole: _It’s nothing fancy. I hope that’s okay_

Waverly: _Nicole._

Nicole: _Yeah?_

Waverly: _As long as I get to spend time with you, I’m happy_

Nicole rolls onto her back on top of her bed, grinning ear to ear as her thumbs move across her screen. _Same_ 😊 _,_ she types. _But don’t worry about dressing up or anything. Like, no fancy cocktail gown or anything_

Waverly: _Dang, I guess I’ll have to rethink my outfit_

Nicole: _I mean, if you’d like to wear a cocktail gown…… I won’t complain_

Waverly: _Are you flirting with me?_

Nicole: _What is flirting_

 

* * *

 

Waverly laughs quietly to herself, feeling a bit lighter. It’s two-thirty in the afternoon and she’s already tired, having experienced what feels like nearly the entire range of human emotion in a single day. 

As much as she’d love to invite Nicole over to wile away the afternoon, she knows she’d never manage to be mentally present with her. She can’t even gather her thoughts enough to jump into the group text with her friends that’s been buzzing on her phone all day. Her conversation with Curtis has reignited both her anxiety and her family-history fever, a distressing combination that has her hands shaking and her mind racing as she paces her bedroom, unsure what to do with herself. 

In her notebook she’s jotted down everything Curtis told her, along with other questions that’ve popped up in her mind, and things to research or consider. There are so many things. She feels on fire with curiosity and frustration both. If only her father had told her more, if only Curtis knew more, if only she could talk to Wynonna...

She considers sneaking out to the barn. She could sit in front of the trunk all afternoon, sifting through its contents. But as illogical as it is, the thought is a bit frightening now that she knows other people might be searching for it. She feels as though there’s a target on her back. That maybe there has been one all along, and she hadn’t known it, which is even scarier. 

Marching to her bedroom door, she yanks it open and sticks her head out. “Aunt Gus!”

There’s a shouted “Whaddaya need?” from somewhere in the house.

“Did Wynonna give you a phone number when she left?” Waverly yells, although without much hope. Why would Wynonna give Gus her number, but not her little sister?

There’s a pause, and Waverly wonders whether Gus will pretend not to have heard her. But then, “No,” comes the response. 

“Shit.” Waverly closes the door again, resuming her pacing. She’s wound up, almost frantic, as if she’s on the verge of a panic attack. She runs a hand repeatedly through her hair, thinking. She hears a muffled voice and returns to the door.

“What?” she shouts.

“I said Curtis has been emailing her,” Gus yells back.

Email feels so old-school, so below Wynonna’s standard that she hadn’t even considered it. But of course it would be easier to use email, especially if Wynonna is traveling a lot… Waverly hurries to her desk, logs onto her laptop, and then sits in front of a blank email message, thinking.

 _Hey, Wynonna,_ she begins. _How are you? What have you been up to? I miss you so much._

She takes a deep breath and reads through the new list in her notebook again. It’d be so much easier if she could just send Wynonna a picture of it, say, “This is what I know so far,” and go from there.

But no. This message has to be delicately worded. Demanding answers or explanations of Wynonna is a surefire way to make her defensive or angry; or worse, to clam up and turn away. Waverly’s learned that the hard way.

She thinks back to their last conversation before Wynonna jetted off, remembering: Wynonna had been afraid of Waverly getting hurt.

A wave of anger rolls through her. She’s the baby. Always the one to be protected, the last to get the news, the last to be allowed in. Does nobody believe in her? Do they think she is weak, fragile? She places the feeling in a box and slaps the lid on it, policing her own tone as she continues typing.

_Remember the thing I asked you about before you left? I know you said I shouldn’t talk about it, and please don’t worry. I haven’t been talking about it with anyone._

(Surely Uncle Curtis, who is part of the family and, at least partially, in on the secret, doesn’t count.)

_But I was hoping maybe I could talk about it with you, if you’re comfortable doing that. I have a lot of questions, Wynonna, and I’m feeling a bit lost and confused. You wouldn’t have to answer anything you didn’t want to. Could you please call me if you have a moment? I just need my big sister._

_Love you times a million._

_xoxo,_

_Waverly_

She reads it over, tears welling in her eyes as she allows herself to think about what her sister has endured for years. She feels ashamed of herself. She’s only just starting to understand what Wynonna has been through, just starting to take on the burden of the knowledge that Wynonna has been carrying her entire life. She’s already overwhelmed, and yet she’s lucky, _protected_ from others’ judgment. 

What kind of strength must her sister have?

When she was younger, and kids would jeer at her and make cruel remarks about her sister, she thought she’d had it hard then. She’d felt sorry for herself and angry at Wynonna.

God, she’d been so stupid.

She sends the email, sniffling and wiping at her wet cheeks. 

On a whim, she does a Google search for “Wyatt Earp.” A sepia-toned photograph pops up on the right of the search screen; she clicks on it. An impressively long walrus mustache obscures Wyatt’s mouth. Waverly studies his nose and eyes, trying to find her father in her great-great-grandfather’s features. Trying to find her own.

Further down the screen, there’s a black-and-white photo of Wyatt wearing a tall, ten-gallon hat, his serious eyes gleaming. Waverly sighs. “What did you do?” she whispers at the computer screen.

And then it hits her. Maybe she needs to start here, with Wyatt. Maybe she needs to work forward, instead of backward.

She navigates back to the search page, finds an article that looks trustworthy, and starts to read.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was going to make this plus the date all one chapter, but it got too long so I decided to split it in two. Second half should come soon. 
> 
> -Tea


	14. In which Nicole and Waverly go on a date

Nicole doesn’t have a lot of “nice” outfits—most of her clothes are from the secondhand store where her dad puts in a few hours every week—but she does have one that feels a cut above the rest, a short-sleeve, navy blue button-up printed with tiny foxes. That’s what she puts on for her date with Waverly. That and a pair of distressed gray skinny jeans. 

She stands in front of the mirror in her bedroom, buttoning and unbuttoning the second-to-top button of her shirt, considering her appearance: feminine, but not overly so. Just herself, somewhere comfortably in the middle. She decides to go with an undone top button and steps back to view more of her outfit in the mirror. She likes the way the foxes match her hair, which she’s left down. She thinks she looks okay.

It’s mid-afternoon, cloudy and cold and lightly snowing. She’s a bit unmoored, about to set out on some entirely new journey: dating Waverly Earp. She’s nervous, but she tries to think of it as an adventure. Then she thinks she’s thinking too much about it and needs to just _do_ it, to just get out there and let things happen as they will. Waverly will help her along the way.

Waverly. The thought of her makes Nicole’s heart trill. 

She grabs a cardigan and heads downstairs.

*****

She arrives at the McCreadys’ two minutes early and hops out of the car, leaving it idling, with the heat on so that it’ll be warm when Waverly climbs in, her quads burning as she carves a path through deep snow before reaching the shoveled-smooth sidewalk. 

Waverly slips out of the house just as Nicole reaches the porch steps. Her entire face seems to be smiling as she walks toward Nicole, eyes crinkled into those half moons that melt Nicole’s heart. She’s bundled in a peacoat and a carefully wrapped blanket scarf so large she’s nearly lost inside of it, and she just looks so...

“Stunning _,_ ” Nicole breathes. She stops and inhales, just looking at Waverly, watching tiny flakes of snow settle in her hair. She's so perfect, she looks like a picture out of a goddamn winter clothing catalog. After a moment, Nicole realizes she’s grinning like a fool and hasn’t said anything yet, so she reaches out with a bare hand. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Waverly says softly, slipping her hand into Nicole’s. Her smile dips into a small frown. “Where are your gloves?”

“I was hot,” Nicole says absent-mindedly, still smiling, her bare hand cupping the rough wool of Waverly’s mitten. She can feel Waverly’s thin fingers inside the knitting, curled around her own.

“It’s minus seven out,” Waverly says. 

Nicole nods and shrugs and responds, “You look beautiful,” her face warm. She wonders if Waverly notices the slight tremble in her voice. She wants to kiss her so much that she aches with it, but she doesn’t know if it’s okay. If her aunt and uncle are watching. If they know _._

Waverly smiles shyly, her eyes shining, and slips an arm around Nicole’s waist, tucking herself snugly against her side. Nicole pulls her close, frustrated by the layers of coats between them. Her heartbeat crescendos when Waverly rises onto her tiptoes, puts her warm mouth against Nicole’s ear and says, “Let’s get to the car so I can kiss you hello.” 

Nicole shivers despite the warmth that rushes her body.

They walk together across the yard, swaying almost drunkenly, their steps slow and mismatched due to height difference, and Nicole notes vaguely that her anxiety seems to have flown the coop.

A little ways down the road, Waverly instructs her to pull over. Nicole does, checking in front and behind for cars (there are none) before drifting fully onto the shoulder and putting the car in park. She punches on her flashers for good measure, and then Waverly is leaning over the center console, her hand on Nicole’s face, her lips against her mouth, and Nicole’s body is its own heartbeat, and she’s adrift in the sensation of kissing Waverly Earp.

 

* * *

   
As they cruise along Highway 1, Waverly punches radio buttons, settling on a pop song that she knows and can sing along with. She enjoys singing, although she's normally too self-conscious to do it in front of people. But she can’t imagine Nicole ever making fun of her for singing. She even thinks Nicole might _like_ her singing, which, if she’s honest, is mostly why she does it. Nicole’s heart eyes make her feel adored in a way that nothing else ever quite has. Plus, she’s just so _happy_ , here on a date with Nicole.

“Sing with me,” she says loudly, over the music.

“Nooo,” Nicole laughs, “I can’t sing, trust me.”

“Everyone can sing,” Waverly counters teasingly.

Nicole shakes her head, her lips pressed together into an amused smile. “Only a person who can sing would say that.”

Waverly laughs, recognizing the compliment, and pulls her legs up onto the car seat, curling closer to Nicole, although the console remains annoyingly between them. She places a hand on the top of Nicole’s thigh, the way Champ did with her so many times in his car, and rubs her thumb against the gray denim. She doesn’t feel as though she's nearly close enough to her.

Nicole takes one hand off the wheel and slips it beneath hers, lacing their fingers together, her slightly sweaty palm pressed against Waverly’s.

Waverly watches Nicole as she drives, admiring how she looks behind the wheel. Waverly has her license, but Gus and Curtis haven’t bought her a car, and she would never ask them to; they do plenty for her already. And anyway, she’s still a little bit nervous on the road. But Nicole looks confident--not to mention very hot in sunglasses. 

Waverly’s gaze traces Nicole’s profile, along her jawline, up to her lips, until Nicole glances at her, smiling self-consciously. “You’re making me nervous.”

“I didn’t mean to. I just like looking at your face.” 

Nicole laughs through her nose.

The more Waverly looks at her, the more time she spends with Nicole, the more good-looking Nicole seems to become. She’s more than just beautiful; because after all, Chrissy is beautiful, or hot, or whatever. Waverly can see that. But there's just something so damn attractive about Nicole. Waverly's attraction to her seems to go beyond categorization or labeling, beyond Waverly being into girls or guys or both. There’s just something about _her._  

The music takes an ad break. Waverly turns it down. “Are we going to the Big City?”

“Nope. Cochrane.”

“Cochrane,” Waverly says thoughtfully. 

“Ever been?”

“Just for games. Never really explored the town or anything.”

Nicole nods.

“I’m glad we’re getting out of town,” Waverly says.

“Yeah?” Nicole glances at her. “Why’s that?”

“Oh, I dunno. It’s just nice to get away from all those eyes. Everybody knowing you. You know?” She runs a hand through her hair, deciding not to mention what a relief it is to escape the newfound feeling that she’s being watched by the men Curtis warned her about. She suddenly feels a lot more visible in Purgatory than she did a day ago.

“Yeah,” Nicole says, “although I don’t think I’m as well known in town as you are.”

Waverly cocks an eyebrow at her. “Why, because of my family, you mean?”

“No...” Nicole hesitates. “I mean, yes, but also because you’re just… popular? Everyone likes you. You’re like, practically a local celebrity, Waverly Earp.” She looks over at her, eyes dancing.

Waverly feels herself blush with embarrassment and pleasure both. Being well-liked is, somehow, something that is both hard work and very simple for her. “Oh, please. Hardly,” she says, demurring. “Purgatory celeb. I’ve really peaked. Oh, my god, am I peaking? In high school?”

“No way,” Nicole insists quickly. “You’re brilliant, and you’re going to do amazing things after high school. You’re just getting started.” She sounds confident and matter-of-fact.

“You sound like my aunt,” Waverly says.

After a moment, Nicole asks, “Are you glad we’re leaving town because you don’t want anyone to see us together? I mean, like, _together_ together?”

Waverly thinks carefully before answering. She hadn’t even considered the fact that people might look at the two of them and realize they were on a date, but the idea is rather appealing. “No,” she says slowly. “I mean, if people saw us together.... Well, people don’t exactly assume that people are... _gay_ around here, you know?”

“What if we were holding hands?” Nicole asks. “Fingers interlaced.”

Waverly smiles. “Even then. Maybe if we were making out in the street, then yeah, but...” Her stomach does a flip at the thought.

“Well, okay,” Nicole says, “but what if they did? Would you be upset?”

“Would it upset you?” Waverly asks in return, and they both fall silent, thinking. Nicole passes two cars before either of them speaks.

“I don’t think it would upset me,” Nicole says finally, glancing over. “I might be kind of nervous about it, but not upset, per se.”

“Yeah, I don’t think it would upset me, either.” Waverly squeezes her hand, relieved. “Nicole... I really like you. It’s not that I don’t want people to know we’re together, okay? You believe me? I mean, people in Purgatory, whatever. Screw ’em, you know?” Anger sparks briefly as she remembers, again, how much grief people gave Wynonna when she was a teen.

“Mm-hm,” Nicole says quietly.

“It’s just that when it gets out, it might be… a bit of a _thing_ at school, you know. Like _oooh_ , _Waverly dumped Champ, and now she’s dating a girl,_ and I just. I want to be ready for it, is all. And it’s kind of nice to just have this time together before everyone knows and is all up in our business. It’ll be nice to be in a place where people don’t know us and won’t care. Does that make sense?”

Nicole nods. “It does makes sense.” 

“It’s not _you_ , Nicole,” Waverly says anxiously. “You’re… _so_ wonderful.”

“I know,” Nicole says. “I mean, I know it’s not me. It’s okay, really. I get it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. There’s nothing to feel bad about, okay? And if anyone gives you shit at school… I know it might not make a big difference, but you have _me_ , you know. You wouldn’t be alone.”

Tears prickle in Waverly’s eyes. Coming out might make a splash, and even though Nicole might not have as much social clout as Waverly does, it helps to know that she wouldn’t have to brave it alone. 

She stares down at her lap, eyes wide, willing herself not to cry. God, what’s wrong with her? _Get it together_ , she tells herself, taking a shaky breath. She clears her throat and blinks rapidly. “It does make a difference,” she says quietly. 

Nicole glances over once, then again, her eyes meeting Waverly’s. Waverly’s nose feels warm. It must be telltale pink.

Nicole adjusts her fingers, getting a firmer grip on Waverly’s hand.  “But…” she says, “this thing. Us. You’re still okay with it? It’s still happening?”

“Oh, I’m definitely okay with it, and it’s absolutely, most definitely—” Waverly leans across the console to kiss Nicole’s cheek, “still happening.” 

No matter what Purgatory might throw at them, she can’t imagine letting Nicole get away.

*****

Nestled at the base of Big Hill, Cochrane is surrounded by acres of sprawling, snow-covered Bow River Valley. Waverly gawks out the window as Nicole’s phone GPS directs them toward the center of town.

“Cochrane Historical Museum,” Nicole says, tapping a fingertip on her window, and Waverly turns to look out Nicole’s side of the car. “We just passed a sign.”

“Huh.” She cranes her neck to see. “Cool.”

“Wanna stop?”

“Is that the plan?” Waverly asks, surprised.

Nicole smiles. “No. But I don’t mind stopping if you want. You’re kind of a local history nerd, right?”

“Mm, it is interesting,” Waverly says noncommittally. Something sparks in her brain, an idea she doesn’t have time to think about at the moment, but she’s not at all eager to get on the subject of her research. “I’d rather do whatever you have planned for us, though.” She squeezes Nicole’s thigh. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Waverly smiles at her. 

They make their way onto a main street lined with colorful shop fronts. Waverly is surprised by how lively it is—more so than Purgatory. The streets and sidewalks are bustling with cars and people out running their weekend errands. She feels cheerful, almost light, as if leaving the Purgatory city limits and entering this new space has taken a weight off her shoulders.

“It’s very Old West-ish, isn’t it?” she observes. The buildings are mostly false front, with ornate, boldly painted cornices, although they look new and well kept. “Wonder if Wyatt made his way out here in his day.”

“If it even existed back then,” Nicole adds. “It’s like a spiffier version of Purgatory.”

“A step closer to heaven,” Waverly says as they wait for a car to pull out of a diagonal parking space near the end of the block. “Get it?”

Nicole grins at her. “I get it.”

Outside, Nicole takes Waverly’s hand and leads her around the corner and halfway down the block, where they stop in front of a cream-colored storefront with forest green trim. She turns to look at Waverly, her face nervous and hopeful, and takes a breath. “This is it.”

Waverly peers into the wide front windows of the shop, then up at the wooden sign hanging above the door. “‘House of Leaves,’” she reads. “A tea shop?” She looks at Nicole excitedly, a wide smile stretching across her face. “I love tea!”

“I know you do. Apparently they have fancy tea?”

“Fancy tea,” Waverly repeats, amused.

“Yep. And all their food is vegetarian. I thought it would be a good place to just, you know, talk.”

“Nicoooole,” Waverly says, squeezing her hand with genuine delight. “This is perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“I love it. Can we go in?”

“Of course,” Nicole says, laughing. “After you.”  


* * *

  
The shop is deep and narrow and cozy, with a wooden bar along one side and small tables squeezed into every available space. It’s humming with conversation and the sound of boiling water and the faint clink of dishes from what must be the kitchen behind a hanging curtain at the end of the bar. Nicole is relieved; it’s exactly the sort of place she imagined.

They order at the counter and find a table along the wall near the back, peeling off layers of coats and scarves before they take a seat. After a moment, a server brings out a small bamboo tray with several cups on it, and an insulated pitcher of water for resteeping. He explains the brewing process, which to Nicole seems complicated. Waverly watches him intently, nodding along as he points to the various cups, lifting a lid on one to reveal damp tea leaves inside.

“The leaves have been rinsed already, so they’re ready to go,” he explains, and Waverly nods, smiling kindly up at him and thanking him before he leaves them to their own devices.

Nicole just watches as Waverly pours water into the small, lidded cup, and then waits for a minute, occasionally lifting the lid to watch as the water clouds into tea. She has never seen anything as cute as Waverly trying to pour tea from a… “What’s that called again?” she asks, pointing at the lidded porcelain cup in Waverly’s hand.

“Umm, a gaiwan? Was that it?”

“Sure,” Nicole shrugs, smiling. “You’re good at it.”

Waverly has the cup by her fingertips, the tip of her index finger holding the tilted lid in place as she pours steaming liquid first into Nicole’s cup, and then into her own. 

“This is _awesome_. I totally need to get one of these for at home.” She sets the gaiwan back on its dish between them and rubs her fingertips together. “Hot.”

“Careful,” Nicole says, a bit late. They both take a careful sip of their tea.

“Why are the cups so tiny?” Nicole feels as though her teacup is going to break between her clumsy fingers.

“Probably because it’s cuter that way.”

Nicole laughs. “Probably.”

“Mmm,” Waverly hums as she sets her cup down carefully in front of her. “Why do you think they called Purgatory “Purgatory?” she asks out of the blue, propping her chin on a fist.

“Good question,” Nicole says, momentarily distracted by how adorable Waverly is. “Umm… lost a bet? Ooh, or maybe it’s a metaphor. Like... you have to spend time here in this shitty place before you can move on to something better.”

Waverly points at her. “Smart. Like you have to do the work in Purgatory first, before moving on to a wealthier town. Maybe it was a good place to find work back then. Hard work, though.”

“Yeah,” Nicole says. “Mining and stuff.” 

“Yeah.” Waverly takes another sip of her tea. “You know, my mom used to have this ammolite wind chime thing hanging in our house when I was a kid. Speaking of the mine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Kinda weird, but I loved it. It was so colorful, like a rainbow. I remember it so clearly.”

“Was your mom an artist or something? Did she make it?”

“No. I mean, I don’t know, maybe she made it. She wasn’t an artist or anything, though.”

“Do you know where it is now?”

“No,” Waverly says, sighing and leaning back in her chair. “Maybe it’s still hanging at the Homestead. I didn’t even look when we were there. I was a little distracted.”

“We could go back and check,” Nicole offers, but Waverly shakes her head sharply, surprising Nicole.

“I don’t think so,” she says quickly. “I don’t think it’s safe there. We really shouldn’t have gone that one time. I mean, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have taken you.”

Nicole feels her heart sink a little bit. She wouldn’t have called the visit _enjoyable_ , exactly, but she had been happy that Waverly trusted her enough, felt comfortable enough with her, to take her back to her childhood home, a place that clearly had traumatic memories attached to it.

“Oh,” she says, staring down at her tea, recovering. “Well, did you ever look at your old family stuff? In the barn?”

Waverly hesitates, and Nicole worries that she’s only steering them further into uncomfortable territory. Maybe Waverly did look, and she found something that brought back more traumatic memories from her childhood, and Nicole is reminding her of it. She wonders what could be in the trunk. Maybe old family photo albums: pictures of Waverly’s mom and dad and oldest sister. That must be it.

“I did look at it,” Waverly says finally, spinning her empty teacup between her fingertips. 

Nicole waits, wondering if she’ll elaborate on what she found. “Family stuff is so hard,” she says finally, just to break the silence.

“Yeah.” Waverly looks at her. “It’s really, really complicated.”

“I get that.”

“No, I mean… it’s _really_ messed up.”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Nicole says, wondering what could possibly be more messed up than what she already knows about the Earp family.

“I just…” Waverly pushes her hair behind an ear. She opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something, then closes it again.

“It’s okay. If you ever do want to talk about it, I want to listen,” Nicole says, hoping she sounds supportive, and not too eager or curious. “Anything. Anytime. But only if you want to.”

“I don’t want to scare you away,” Waverly says quietly, with a gentle laugh, but then she swallows suddenly, looking worried. 

“I don’t scare easily,” Nicole says, holding her gaze. “I promise, Waverly.”

“Okay,” Waverly whispers. 

They’re quiet for a moment, sipping their tea, and then Nicole taps Waverly’s forearm gently, rubbing a fingertip against the soft sleeve of her sweater. “Hey. Let’s talk about something else. Something happier.” 

Waverly nods, and Nicole asks her what she’s got planned for the rest of winter break. 

“Not much, honestly. I’ve got cheer captain tryouts at the end of January.”

Nicole raises her eyebrows in delight. “Oh, wow! Captain. So what do you have to do to try out?”

“Make up a routine and perform it, basically,” Waverly says casually, as though this is a simple task that doesn’t take a good amount of talent.

“Have you got yours done?”

Waverly nods and shrugs. “Pretty much. Still needs a bit of practice, though.”

“Can I see it?” Nicole asks eagerly, leaning forward.

“What, right now?” Waverly asks, her lips pressed into a teasing smile. “It’s a little crowded in here, don’t you think?”

“I could make an announcement,” Nicole offers. “Clear the room.”

“That’s really generous of you.” Waverly props her elbows on the edge of the table, leaning toward Nicole, and whispers, “But I think I’d rather show you later. Alone.”

Nicole swallows and leans back, shrugging casually, although her stomach feels as though it has disappeared. “Okay. I’m okay with that,” she says, biting back a grin as images of Waverly in her cheerleading uniform flash across her mind. “Um, so… so do you think you have a good chance of getting it?”

“I hope so,” Waverly says. “You’ll probably think it’s silly, but I _really_ want it.”

“I don’t think it’s silly. Why would I think that?”

Waverly shrugs. “I dunno. ’Cause it’s just cheerleading, I guess.”

“I think it’s cool, Waverly. Plus, you’re so good at it. I mean, god, I could never dance like you. The way you move is just, like… amazing.” Nicole feels her face grow hot, and it’s not because of the tea.

Waverly smiles at her. “I’m just nervous.”

“About the tryouts?”

“Yeah. Just nervous about not getting it. I’ve been working toward it and wanting it for so long; I’ll be kind of crushed if I don’t get it. Or what if I make a mistake and ruin my chance? Anyway, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Nicole wants to reach across the table for Waverly’s hand, but she’s not sure if Waverly is okay with holding hands in public. So she rests her open hand on the table, palm up, leaving it up to her.

Waverly looks at her palm, and then after a moment, she places her hand in Nicole’s. Relieved, Nicole squeezes, rubbing her thumb over Waverly’s knuckles. “Pretend it’s just me in the room during your tryouts,” she says with a grin.

Waverly laughs and makes a face. “I’m not sure that’ll help my nerves any. Might make them worse, honestly.”

They smile at each other, and their gaze seems to shift into something more intense, making Nicole’s heart trip in her chest. She focuses on the smoothness of Waverly’s skin beneath her thumb, rubbing back and forth.

The server returns to the table with their food, and Waverly takes the opportunity to steep another round of tea.

“So, um,” Nicole says, swallowing a bite of her sandwich. “I don’t really have anything else planned for tonight. I thought maybe we could hang out and watch a movie or something. Whatever you want.”

“I’m up for anything,” Waverly says. “As long as I can spend more time with you.”

“That’s the plan,” Nicole says, smiling. “My house or yours?”

Waverly chews a mouthful of salad, considering. “How about mine? You could spend the night, if you want.”

Nicole looks at her, trying to continue chewing normally. She swallows with some effort. “Um.”

“I mean—” Waverly says, as if she’s about to backtrack. But instead she just pauses, looking up at Nicole with a hint of a smile on her lips, and shrugs. “If you want.”

“Okay,” Nicole says, not sure what she means by _okay_ , but pretty sure she’s okay with anything that spending the night might entail. She looks shyly at Waverly, who continues to watch her, a small, questioning smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, and laughs breathily.

Waverly grins. “Would you like more tea?” she asks innocently.

“Yes, please,” Nicole says, setting her cup on the tray.

*****

“I’m just gonna run to the restroom before we leave.”

Nicole nods. An hour and a half later, they’ve finished the pitcher of water and she’s buzzing with the caffeine, her face warm, heart beating a bit faster than is comfortable. While Waverly is in the bathroom, she wanders toward the front of the shop, trying to calm her nerves as she thinks about what will come once they get home. If only she could read Waverly’s mind.

It’s not like she hasn’t thought about having sex with Waverly. It’s kind of all she can think about these days. She’s imagined it over and over again, mostly—embarrassingly—as a form of mental rehearsal. She’s never had sex, but she’s pretty sure there are a thousand ways to do it, so she figures it’s probably wise to have some sort of plan ready for when the time comes. To minimize the stress of last-minute decision making. 

She browses a wall of tea without really seeing it, grabs a package of the looseleaf they shared, and heads quickly toward the counter, thinking she’ll give it to Waverly for Christmas.   


* * *

   
On their way out of town, as they once again approach the long driveway leading to the Cochrane Historical Museum, Waverly surprises herself by grabbing Nicole’s arm. “Let’s stop,” she says. She feels wide awake and full of energy, even a bit of daring.

Nicole looks at her with eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

Waverly nods. “Why not?” 

Maybe they’ll have something useful. She doesn’t have to reveal anything to Nicole about her research, after all. She can just look around. 

Her stomach squirms all the same.

*****

The museum is a small, brown-brick house with twin chimneys and a long walkway leading up to the porch. Salt has been sprinkled generously on the wooden planks. It crunches under their feet as they walk, a bit self-consciously, toward the front door. There’s only one car beside theirs in the lot.

Inside, it’s warm and so quiet that Waverly can hear a clock ticking from another room. Nicole closes the door behind them, and they stand there in the foyer uncertainly, until an older woman appears at the end of the hall, popping her head out from another room.

“Welcome,” she says, gesturing. “Come on in. We’re only open for about another fifteen minutes.”

“Oh,” Waverly says. She glances at Nicole. “I’m sorry, we didn’t even look at the time.”

“No problem, no problem,” the woman says cheerfully, approaching them. “You’ve got a bit of time. Come and take a look around.”

The floorboards are wide and dark, and they creak as Waverly and Nicole follow the woman through an entrance into the room on their left. Clearly, the house is quite old, the trim along the walls thick and dark, the windows insulated with clear plastic. There are glass display cases set up along the edges and in the middle of the room. 

“Are these _toys?_ ” Waverly asks, approaching a case along the wall. Inside are wooden cars and trucks, their once-colorful paint faded and chipped.

“Sure are,” the woman says. “We’ve got a large collection of historical toys. Across the hall there’s a temporary historical hospital exhibit up, and in the back, there’s one about the fire department going back decades.”

“Wow,” Nicole says, standing with her hands on her knees, squinting at the bottom shelf of a tall display case. “These are the creepiest dolls I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe they didn’t give kids nightmares.”

Waverly laughs nervously and rubs her hand over Nicole’s back, amused. “Where’d you get all this stuff?” she asks the woman.

“Private collections, mostly. People donated them.” 

“People in Cochrane?” 

“Mm-hm. You interested in local history?” the woman asks Waverly.

Nicole straightens up and glances at her, and Waverly hopes that she’s not about to tell the woman about her connection to Wyatt Earp. She’d rather not bring that up. “A little bit,” she says quickly, shrugging.

“You live in town?”

“Purgatory.” She cocks a thumb over her shoulder.

“Purgatory,” the woman repeats, nodding. “Talk about interesting history. I’m surprised they don’t have a museum themselves.”

Waverly hadn’t thought about it before, but she’s surprised, too. _But then,_ she thinks, reconsidering as she remembers what Uncle Curtis told her about the fear people have regarding Purgatory’s history, _maybe it’s not so surprising. Maybe people don’t want to remember._

“It’s a shame,” she says, which is true, if only because the lack of available information is making her own search that much more difficult.

“Doesn’t mean the artifacts and information aren’t there, though.” It’s almost as if the woman has read Waverly’s mind. She taps a finger against her temple. “It’s in the heads of Purgatorians. And the houses, of course.”

“Makes it hard to get at,” Waverly says.

“Ehh, you may find that people are more eager to talk about their history than you might expect,” the woman says, “if you ask them.”

“We have an archives,” Nicole interjects helpfully, joining Waverly in the center of the room, “in the public library.”

Waverly smiles at her. “She works there,” she explains to the woman.

“Then that’s a good place to start.” The woman smiles at them. “But sometimes you have to look far and wide. There are digital archives, you know. And in the case of Purgatory, of course, you’ve got the Wyatt Earp connection, and most of that history is housed in the States.”

Waverly stares at her, trying to determine if she somehow realizes who Waverly is. But no, she decides, there’s no way she could know. The fact is that Wyatt Earp is just a well-known piece of Purgatory history. She notices Nicole looking at her and slips her hand into hers.

The woman smiles again. “I’ll leave you two to look around, but let me know if you’ve got any questions.”

“Thank you,” Waverly says, offering her a smile in return. 

* * *

  
It’s long been dark by the time they arrive back at the McCready house. Nicole hates the short days of winter, the sluggish feeling that comes with them. She resents the early sunsets for robbing her of time to run in the evenings. But she doesn’t think about that today. 

Waverly suggests building a bonfire in the firepit out back, and Nicole agrees, although she’s never been particularly fond of winter bonfires. They find half a dozen blankets in the linen closet, and Nicole carries two adirondack chairs from the garage while Waverly heats up mugs of apple cider in the kitchen. She gets the fire started, pushing crumpled pieces of newspaper beneath tented logs and sliding long, lit matches into the bottom.

When Waverly joins her, she scoots her chair over so that its plastic arm is pressed against the arm of Nicole’s and hands her a warm, steaming mug. “I put caramel vodka in it,” she says. “I hope that’s okay.”

Nicole sticks her face in the cloud of steam rising from the mug and inhales deeply. It smells like apple and sweetness and autumn. “It smells amazing.”

“This vodka is different. It’s not gross like what you had at the party.”

“I hope not!”

“Trust me. Try it.”

Nicole takes a sip, considers the taste, and nods. “Okay, I approve. It’s like a caramel apple.”

“Exactly.” Waverly takes a sip from her own mug, and then sets it on the stone ledge of the firepit so that she can pull a blanket completely around herself. When it's wrapped around her like a cocoon, she settles back into her chair, leaning on the arm nearest Nicole.

Then she sighs. “Sorry, do you mind if I just check…” she pulls her phone from her pocket, its light illuminating her face. After a few seconds, she slides it back into her pocket.

“Everything okay?” Nicole asks.

“Yeah, sorry. I’ve been waiting for an email from my sister, but she hasn’t responded. I’m not too surprised, though.”

“She must be busy traveling,” Nicole says, wanting to reassure her.

“Yeah.”

“Are you guys close?” Nicole asks, taking a sip of her cider. She can already feel the warmth of the alcohol spreading down her legs. 

Waverly shrugs and sighs again. “I mean… sort of. She’s not exactly easy to get close to. She doesn’t like to let people in.”

“Mm,” Nicole hums in response, watching her face.

“I don’t really blame her,” Waverly mumbles.

“No? Why not?” 

Waverly turns her face toward Nicole but doesn’t meet her eyes. “She had a really hard time in high school,” she says slowly. Her eyes flick up to Nicole’s and she asks hesitantly, “How much do you know?”

“About Wynonna?” Nicole takes a moment to think as she tucks a blanket more tightly over her legs. “Not much. The basics, I guess?” She’s reluctant to say anything, worried that she’s only heard rumors, false information.

“Well,” Waverly continues quietly, “she didn’t live with us—with my aunt and uncle—when she was in high school. For a while she was in a psych hospital. Then she got shuffled from foster home to foster home. And she was always getting in trouble. Sometimes even with the law.”

Nicole waits while Waverly takes a couple sips of her cider, staring into the fire.

“I used to be angry at my aunt and uncle. Why wouldn’t they take her in, too, you know? Maybe she’d have had an easier time of it.”

“Why didn’t they?” Nicole asks gently.

“Because of me,” Waverly says simply. Her voice has an edge to it.

“What do you mean?”

She takes a deep breath. “They wanted me to have a ‘normal’ life. They thought I could still be ‘saved.’ I was young enough. It was too late for Wynonna. She was already… messed up.”

Waverly glances at Nicole, smiling briefly, and then takes a sip of her cider. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get into all this.”

“It’s okay,” Nicole says, watching her. “You can talk about it.”

“I never talk about it.”

They drink their cider in silence for a few minutes. “You want more?” Waverly asks after draining her mug. 

“Sure,” Nicole says as Waverly reaches for her mug. “Thanks.”

While she waits for Waverly, she gazes around at the rolling landscape, at the snow’s faint glow beneath the charcoal sky and nearly full moon. It’s quiet out here, and peaceful. The fire is hot against her face and shins.

She thinks about Wynonna, and she feels her own flash of anger at Gus and Curtis. Why _didn’t_ they take her in? _Seems kind of shitty of them_ , Nicole thinks. But then, she can’t imagine suddenly having to take care of two kids when she didn’t ask for it. 

When Waverly returns, she asks, “Did you ever have an imaginary friend when you were a kid?” She hands Nicole a mug.

Nicole laughs softly, surprised by the question. “Yeah, actually. I had three,” she says. “They had silly names, too embarrassing to repeat. My mom still talks about them sometimes.”

Waverly pulls her legs up onto the chair, arranging the blanket over them. She leans toward Nicole. “That’s adorable. Tell me their names.”

“No.”

“Please?” she wheedles.

“No way,” Nicole says, laughing. “Apparently I’d push my little play grocery cart into the kitchen and announce that the four of us were going grocery shopping. I must’ve gotten lonely as an only child.”

“I had one, too,” Waverly says, “but I can’t remember his name. My sisters were really tight when we were kids. They left me out a lot. I guess that’s why I had the imaginary.”

“They weren’t nice to you?”

“Wynonna was. Willa wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Nicole says.

“I feel really guilty that Wynonna had such a shitty time growing up,” Waverly says, looking down at her mug. “Well, after our dad died. I feel like it’s my fault that she didn’t get the support she needed.”

Nicole senses that, as hard as it may be, Waverly has been wanting to talk about this. “Waverly, it’s not your f—”

“It is, though,” Waverly interrupts, looking at her. “If Gus and Curtis hadn’t been trying to protect me, maybe they would’ve taken Wynonna in.”

“Maybe,” Nicole allows, “but maybe not. Maybe they just didn’t know how to support her.”

Waverly is silent, no longer meeting Nicole’s eyes. 

Nicole reaches over, finding Waverly’s hand beneath the blanket, sliding her fingers between hers. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says. “It’s not your fault what happened to Wynonna.”

“It’s just not fair,” Waverly says, her voice thick.

“I know it’s not,” Nicole says.

“Sometimes I hate myself for what happened.”

“Waverly—” Nicole says, feeling her heart break.

“I’m not trying to make you feel sorry for me.”

“I know, honey,” Nicole says quietly.

Waverly's eyes are closed, her voice a whisper now. “I just wish things could have been different for her.”

At a loss for words, Nicole just squeezes her hand tightly, the gentle crackling of the fire the only sound. “Can I ask why she was in a psych hospital?” she asks after a few minutes have passed.

Waverly is silent. She opens her mouth, then closes it again. Nicole just waits.

“She had a hard time after our dad…” Waverly trails off, then takes a breath. “She had a lot of… ideas. They thought she had psychosis. Delusions.”

“Delusions?”

Waverly nods. 

Nicole hums softly in acknowledgement. “That must have been scary,” she says gently.

“It was,” Waverly says. “I was terrified for her. I didn’t really understand what was going on.”

“You were little.”

Waverly nods slowly. “I trusted her.”

“That’s understandable.”

After a moment, Waverly takes a deep breath and pulls her hand away from Nicole’s. “Sorry to get all sad on you. Again,” she says, laughing a little and swiping a fingertip along her lower eyelids.

“It’s okay.”

Waverly looks at Nicole, meeting her eyes. “I really like you.”

“I really like you, too, Waverly.”

They smile gently at one another, and then Waverly says, “I’m turning into an ice sculpture.”

“A very pretty one.”

“Even still.”

“Wanna head in?”

“Yes.”

*****

They brush their teeth and crawl into bed as soon as they get inside, and Nicole is glad for it: the privacy and physical closeness of it, the chance to hold Waverly in a way she’s not able to anywhere else. She feels Waverly shiver and burrow against her side beneath the cool sheets, sliding cold fingers over Nicole’s waist, slipping them just beneath the hem of her t-shirt. She rests her head on Nicole’s shoulder, and Nicole kisses her hair. It smells only faintly of smoke.

“Nicole?”

“Yeah?”

“Are we dating?” Waverly asks.

“Today was a date, wasn’t it?” Nicole asks, smiling into the darkness. She trails soft fingertips up and down Waverly’s arm.

“I mean, are we… girlfriends?”

“Do you want to be?” Nicole manages to ask, despite feeling like she’s holding her breath with hope.

Waverly presses her hand flat against Nicole’s belly, sliding it slowly up to her waist. Nicole’s heart immediately begins to gallop, warmth spreading outward from beneath Waverly’s hand and up to her chest. 

She feels Waverly shift so that she’s propped on an elbow beside her. Her hair falls gently from her shoulder and onto Nicole’s chest as she brings her lips to Nicole’s and kisses her slowly, slipping her tongue into Nicole’s mouth. She tastes like toothpaste. 

Heat rushes to Nicole’s belly, and then lower, pulsing and heavy as Waverly kisses her.

After a moment, Waverly breaks the kiss and opens her eyes. “Will you be my girlfriend?” she whispers.

“Yes,” Nicole says breathlessly. “Will you kiss me again?”

“Yes.”

When their mouths meet, Waverly sinks onto her side, and Nicole shifts so that they’re lying facing one another, arms draped over each other’s waists, hands pressed flat against backs.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” Waverly breathes between kisses.

Nicole pulls her closer, smiling into the kiss. She slips her hand beneath Waverly’s t-shirt, her trembling fingers gliding slowly, reverently, up the ridge of Waverly’s spine, then sweeping over her ribcage and down to her hip. She marvels at the softness and warmth of her skin, the feeling of Waverly’s chest pressed against hers, Waverly’s fingers sliding into her hair. 

Nicole kisses her deeply and agonizingly slowly, her body hot and thrumming with desire and the heady realization that this is happening, happening, happening. 

Waverly breaks the kiss but stays close, her lips brushing Nicole’s, her breath hot against Nicole’s mouth as she says, “I really, really like you.”

“I really like you, too,” Nicole says, laughing softly. “You have no idea.”

“Is this okay?” Waverly breathes. “What we’re doing?”

“More than okay."

“You haven't ever…?”

Neither of them speaks for a second. Waverly's question hangs between them, the only sound their breath.

“No,” Nicole whispers. She hesitates. “Have you?”

There’s a beat, then Waverly whispers, “Not with a girl.”

Nicole takes a few breaths, feeling too nervous and awkward to ask Waverly if she wants to go further. Instead she waits, not wanting to rush anything, just savoring their closeness in this moment. She feels Waverly press her forehead against hers.

“Are you feeling okay about this?” Nicole whispers, wanting to check in. “About… you know, everything?”

“You mean liking a girl?” Waverly asks.

“Yeah.”

Nicole feels her nod. 

“It feels right. I—” Waverly swallows, and Nicole runs a hand slowly up and down her back. “It just feels right. It feels perfectly right.”

And then Waverly is kissing her, slowly, until all at once it shifts into something more urgent. 

Nicole feels everything: Waverly’s hand stroking slowly down the back of her head, pausing to curl around the side of her neck, her thumb pressed against Nicole’s jawbone, her tongue warm and wet inside Nicole’s mouth. She feels Waverly’s fingers glide shiveringly down her side, and then around to the back of her bare thigh. 

Waverly tugs, shifting so that she’s pressed flush against Nicole’s front, and without even thinking about it Nicole slips a leg between Waverly’s, exhaling hard when she feels Waverly move automatically against her thigh. It only takes a moment for them to find a rhythm: Nicole’s hand pressed flat against Waverly’s lower back, their hips moving together. 

The entire thing is almost too much for Nicole. She’s not even the one being touched—they’re still half-clothed, for god’s sake—yet she feels as though she might fly apart at any moment with the sheer, unbelievable pleasure of doing this with Waverly Earp, with the kindest, most interesting, most gorgeous person she’s ever—

She feels Waverly’s kisses grow messier, her mouth slipping from Nicole’s as she presses herself harder against Nicole’s thigh, her breath coming faster and heavier.

With a hand on her waist, Nicole rolls Waverly onto her back and shifts so that she’s lying on top of her, propped on her arms. Waverly moans softly and grabs Nicole by the hips, pulling her against herself and then pushing down. Nicole takes the hint, adding pressure but mostly letting Waverly take the lead. Even through her underwear, Waverly is warm and damp against her leg, and Nicole can’t get enough pressure for herself but she doesn’t care; she just wants to make Waverly feel good, can hardly believe how much she wants that.

She lowers her head to Waverly’s neck, pressing hot kisses firmly beneath her jaw—something she’s never done before but that feels right now. Waverly moans breathily, obviously trying to be quiet about it, her hands pressing and grappling at Nicole's hips, her lower back, lower. Nicole breaks out in a light sweat as she moves against her.

“Nicole—” Waverly says, breathing hard, her hips moving faster. “Nicole—” she repeats, and Nicole watches as she throws her head back, mouth open, arching into Nicole before she finally collapses back against the mattress. 

Nicole rolls onto her side as Waverly pushes her hair back off her forehead with a shaking hand. Her shirt is pushed up, her stomach bare. Nicole rests a hand there gently. “You okay?” she asks.

Waverly looks at her, an amused expression on her face. “Yeah,” she breathes. “I’m okay. Just need a minute.”

“Take all the time you need.” Nicole snuggles up to her side, her arm curling around Waverly's waist, pulling her close.

Waverly closes her eyes, face turned toward Nicole, a sleepy smile on her lips. “Just a minute. Then it’s your turn.”

“Okay.” Nicole reaches up to brush Waverly’s hair back from her face. She traces her hairline with a soft fingertip, around her ear, down her jawline. She studies her closed eyelids, the lashes resting against the tops of her cheeks, the way her lips turn up slightly in the corners. She strokes a thumb along her cheekbone.

Waverly's eyes are closed, but Nicole smiles, feeling like the luckiest girl in the universe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm the slowest at updating. I'm the worst. I realize this now.
> 
> Also, the Cochrane Historical Museum is a real place. Those are their actual exhibits. You can give it a Goog.


End file.
